


Message in a Bottle

by Ice_Cube44



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boston, F/M, Message in a bottle, Prompt Fic, Storybrooke, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan, broken Emma, broken killian, fixing each other, motorsailer Jolly Roger, tall ship Jewel of the Realm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Cube44/pseuds/Ice_Cube44
Summary: Prompt:  I found a cute little message in a bottle you wrote when you were little and decided to come find you and share it with you but God I didn’t expect you to be so hot wth AUWhen Killian Jones stumbles upon a message washed up on the shores of Storybrooke, he can't get the words out of his head.  He needs to find this "Emma Swan" and figure out what became of her.  Who is she and why is he drawn to her?





	1. Adrift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/gifts).



> Thanks to [NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable) for continuously poking, prodding, threatening, bribing, and otherwise pushing me to write and post this. I really wouldn’t have kept going without it.
> 
> ps - “cute” - I’m not entirely sure what that word means. The definition is something like “heartbreaking”, right?  
> (not nearly as heartbreaking as Never Say Goodbye, I promise.)

  


 

> _October 23, 1992_
> 
> _Dear ~~Prince Charming~~ ,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Well, you’ll probably be Captain Hook anyway, knowing my luck.  My name is Emma Swan, it’s my birthday today, and I’m in 4th grade.  My teacher says we have to write these letters so we can throw them in the Charles River and see how far they go once they make it to the ocean.  I don’t think anyone is going to find mine.  Nothing cool like that ever happens to me, so it doesn’t really matter what I write._
> 
> _I’m living with the ~~Klock~~ ~~Kluczk~~ “Klutch-cow-skies” this month.  They suck.  I miss living with Mrs. Welch.  Her husband wasn’t around that much, and I guess it’s cuz he liked another lady better.  But he was better than Mr. Klocz… he wants me to call him “daddy”, but I don’t have one of those.   ~~Or a mom.~~_
> 
> _Anyway, we’re supposed to ask a question so that you have something to answer when you find this.  In the ocean.  Which is huge.  So it’s never gonna happen.  Caroline’s will probably get found.  Or Mikey’s.  The cool stuff always happens to them.  They each have a mom and a dad and Christmas presents and brand new clothes that no one else has worn. ~~I bet they never had to pack in a trash bag.~~_
> 
> _So my question is this.  If you’re reading this, and you are a Prince Charming… or even if you’re Captain Hook, can you come save me or kidnap me or something?  Come take me away, I don’t care where. ~~I just want someone to adopt~~ … never mind, this was stupid anyway._
> 
>  
> 
> _Emma Swan_  
>  ~~10 Guest St  
>  Home for Little Wanderers  
>  ~~ Boston, MA

 

Emma sealed the letter in her bottle with a violent shove to the cork before the teacher could read it.  All the woman had to know was that Emma had actually written a letter, not that she hadn’t written a good one or that she’d put (and then crossed out, she wasn’t stupid, no one was coming for her) the address where someone could adopt her from.  She wasn’t going to last at the Kloczkowski’s anyway, she didn’t even want to learn how to spell their name.  

She smiled disarmingly at her teacher, shaking the bottle to show that she was done with the assignment, and then took out her silent reading book.  If she looked like she was busy, maybe no one would bother her.

When they took a field trip to the Hatch Shell the next week, Emma threw her bottle in with everyone else’s.  If she didn’t watch to see it sink, then she would never know it was crushed in the bottom of the river instead of floating off to the Enchanted Forest and her knight in shining armor.

_Right?_

* * *

**Nineteen years later…**

 

Killian Jones wrapped the line around the cleat instinctively, his mind on anything but securing the 90-ton brig affectionately called the _Jewel of the Realm_ to the pier.  He and Liam had just sailed her up from North Carolina after a winter in drydock for the start of the tourist season.  She was a beauty, her two square-rigged masts towering high over Storybrooke Harbor and dwarfing his own motorsailer - the _Jolly Roger_.  The rest of the crew would be reporting for work in the morning, decking out the tallship for the Memorial Day shakedown cruise that would take place that weekend.

Killian just wanted to curl up in his berth on the _Jolly_ and sleep until it didn’t hurt anymore.

Milah was gone.  She took her son and went back to Gold - too afraid of what the man would do otherwise and to Hell with what Killian wanted.  It didn’t matter that she had torn the family he was trying to be a part of from his grasp.  It didn’t matter that his heart may as well be a squashed reminder of their “fling” under her heel.

It mattered that she and the boy were safe.  He’d have to make do with that.

He’d have to learn to be happy with that.

It was Liam who had suggested they fly down after the _Jewel_ by themselves, keeping Killian so busy with the sail back up the coast that he wouldn’t be able to think about Milah.  About her son.  About how no one good in his life stayed.

Except for his brother.

Liam had been there for it all.  He had been there when their mother died - so long ago now that all Killian remembered was that she smelled like sunshine.  When their father abandoned them - _don’t worry, little brother, I’ll look after you now._  When foster home after foster home threw them back because two rambunctious boys who could only be calmed by the sea were just too much to handle.  When the Royal Navy sent him on a deployment that cost him his hand and his commission.  When he found Milah only to lose her again.

Killian kept forgetting that he just wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Come on, little brother, we’re going to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate our journey.”   Liam’s voice floated over the bow of the ship and Killian hung his head.  So much for a rum-soaked night alone in his cabin.

“I think you meant ‘younger’, Liam.  And I…”

Liam’s head popped over the gunwale.  “Don’t want to hear it.  We’re going.  And then Elsa is expecting us at home.”  He paused, holding up his hand to stall Killian’s sputtering.  “You’re staying, Killian.  We haven’t seen to the state of your vessel yet and Elsa will want to see you.”

Killian looked longingly towards the _Jolly_ before nodding.  It really wouldn’t do to upset Liam’s wife on his first night back in Storybrooke.

* * *

He was drunk.  
He hadn’t meant to.

He had been good the first few nights back in Storybrooke, staying with Liam and Elsa, working on cleaning up the _Jolly Roger_ so he could resume living there over the summer.  He had planned on having one drink at the Rabbit Hole with Smee before heading back to his boat for the night.  They were set to take the _Jewel_ out with the evening tide the next day - he and Liam both refused to leave port on Fridays, so they were heading out Thursday before the holiday.  Everything was set and stowed aboard for the long weekend sail, nothing needed to be done until they reported at noon to start getting ready.  Time enough for one drink and an early walk to the _Jolly_.  But Milah walked into the bar with her bastard husband and didn’t so much as look at him.  So one drink led to another which led to a few shots and now Killian was most certainly drunk.

And stumbling.  
And heading to the town’s small beach.  
At midnight.

He wasn’t sure where the tears came from, or why his brain was trying to tell him that his left hand was on fire, or even why the full moon was glinting so awkwardly into his eyes off that patch of sand when the reflection on the water was soothing.

Sand didn’t glint.  
What _was_ that?

He should probably see what it was - make sure it wasn’t a danger to the town or to his brother or… what had he just been thinking?  Right.  Something funny was just down the shoreline and he _needed_ to know what it was.

Killian was sure that the beach wasn’t this long.  He had run it just the other morning, chasing the neighbor’s dog down after it took off with Elsa’s glove that she had dropped on her way out the door.

That dog hadn’t been so hard to catch as… what was he after again?

Oh.  Right.  The glinty light.

Killian turned back to where he’d started, a bit giddy when he saw his weaving path in the sand.  He could usually hold his liquor better than this.  But he hadn’t eaten before heading out, and then Milah, and his hand.

There was a glass bottle half buried in the sand.

It wasn’t broken, it had a cork and inside it looked like there was a… but no, that kind of thing only happened in the movies.

And certainly didn’t happen to him.

But he reached down to pick it up, anyway.  The paper inside rattled against its glass cage and Killian stared, transfixed, for a good long moment.

He’d found a real, honest to God, message in a bottle.

He grinned.

The glass itself was clear, it looked like it had once held wine, and the cork was saturated and covered in ocean scuzz.  There was a nautical term - _and he knew what it was, thank you very much_ \- but scuzz would suffice for the moment.

So it was older than just a few days - maybe it had even traveled across the ocean, much as he and Liam had after…

No, not going there.

Message.  
In a bottle.  
That’s where his thoughts were focused.

He put the bottle in his pocket.

* * *

The light in his cabin was dim enough that it didn’t hurt his eyes, but bright enough that he could see some of the scrawled writing on the yellowed paper, peeking out from where the roll wasn’t tight enough.  Part of him thought that he should leave it for the morning, when the words wouldn’t swim around the page and he could make sense of it.

But he was curious.

And sobering up.  The night’s walk had done some of the work, and time did some more.  He was too curious to sleep, so he grabbed the cork between his teeth and pulled.

The glass neck shattered in his hand and sent him flying from his chair.

“Bloody _HELL_!”  
Well, he was certainly sober now.

Blood welled up in his palm and dribbled out as he clenched his fist to staunch it.

Liam was going to kill him if this was bad.

He could feel the glass shards between his fingers as he moved to the ship’s head, running water first over his clenched fist and then over his palm.  The cold was startling, but helped to slow the bleeding and he was relieved to find the cuts were jagged, but not too deep.  Picking out the glass with his teeth was unpleasant, and soured him on the sender of his mysterious letter, so he wrapped gauze around his hand and resolved to chuck the whole thing out in the morning.

> _October 23, 1992_
> 
> _Dear ~~Prince Charming~~ ,_

 

It was the writing of a child, but it was the hastily scratched out “Prince Charming” that caught his attention.  There was a violence to the pen marks that resonated with him.  He didn’t believe in happily ever after, either.  Hadn’t for a long, long time.

And neither had this “Emma Swan”, if the rest of the letter was to be believed.  She was nine-years old when she wrote this.  Had been for all of, what, a few hours if she wrote this in school?  He remembered that age.  He couldn’t forget.

The families who kept them for so short a time that he didn’t even know their last names - much like this Emma lass.  
The foster parents who hit Liam because of what Killian did.  
The ones who didn’t care one way or another.  
The families who were torn away from them right when they started to fit in - to hope for stability.  
The parents who locked Liam in his room for stealing food to feed his little brother.

The one family who suggested they might change their name to Darling before the social worker came and brought them back to the group home - Killian never did find out why.

No, he didn’t much believe in happily ever after.

But he hoped, in a way he hadn’t hoped in years, that someone had come to rescue this little girl.

He hoped, whoever she was now, that she had found her happy ending.

* * *

He woke to pounding.  In his head, in his ears, in his bunk.

In his bunk?  That wasn’t just the hangover, then.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!?”

No, not just the hangover, his brother stomping over the deck of the _Jolly_ and down into his sleeping quarters.

Killian mumbled something about pirate treasure, not entirely sure what he meant, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Liam grabbed him by the ankle and yanked.  
Hard.

The floor of his cabin was rock solid and cold, sending spikes of pain shooting through his skull as he attempted to reach up and root through the bedclothes for his pillow.

Whether to put it under his head or over his face, he still wasn’t sure.

Before he could find the object of his search, Liam reached over and smacked him with it.  
Also hard.  
Killian would glare at him if he didn’t think it would hurt too much.

Instead, he suffered himself to roll over and use his arm for a pillow.  Whatever his brother wanted, it could wait until he had to report at noon.

“You’re an hour late, Killian.  Have you been sleeping all this time?  What the ever-loving-”

Killian’s head shot up, and he almost could ignore the dizziness for his shock.  “What did you say?”

Liam looked concerned, then sympathetic, and then annoyed.  “Have you been drinking?”

Killian hung his head, and nodded.  Loathe to upset his brother further, and knowing the rules that the two of them had set _together_ for the crew, he pushed himself to his feet and sat heavily on the bed.

“I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam continued to stare him down for a long moment, and Killian resisted the urge to squirm.  He forestalled the lecture he knew was coming with a quiet,  “No drinking the night before we sail, and early for muster.  I _know_ , Liam.  I’m sorry.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and then it squeezed.  Liam was quiet when he asked, “How bad was it, little brother?”

Killian just shook his head.  His voice cracked more than he’d ever admit to when he replied, “She didn’t even… she pretended like I wasn’t even there.”

“Killian,” Liam’s voice was barely a sigh.  “Killian, you have to stop this.  It’s going to become a problem if you don’t.”

He nodded.  He remembered those families, too - the ones torn apart by dependence on alcohol or worse.  The ones he didn’t want to remember.  The ones who… Killian was determined never to be one of those statistics.  But every once in a while, he couldn’t help it.

“I won’t let it happen to you, brother.  I swear I won’t.”  Liam was adamant on this, and he spoke with a conviction that buoyed Killian enough to get him moving.  He knew his brother couldn’t promise that - only Killian could make that promise - but it still helped.

So he slid the brace on over his stump, wincing at the abrasions he must have made trying to rub out the fire his brain helpfully conjured up the night before, and clicked in the prosthetic that would help him man the ship on her way out of port.

He hoped he’d last the day with it on.

“Killian,” Liam spoke up before they could make their way out of the cramped cabin.  “What did you do to your hand?”

Stupidly, he looked down at his left hand.  It hurt, every time someone asked about it.  Whether they knew the story or not, whether they were legitimately concerned or not.  But Liam… Liam knew the story.  In more detail than anyone else in the world - the doctors and surgeons, the men on his ship, Milah.  He knew about the nights when Killian forgot his hand was gone.  He knew about the nights Killian wanted to cut it off again - the fire assaulting his senses too much to bear, too much to rationalize that it was already gone.  For Liam to be asking now was-

Liam grabbed Killian’s right wrist and waved the bandaged hand in front of his face.  “What did you do to your hand?”

Oh.   _Oh._

It all came back to him, then.  

The night’s journey to the beach, looking for comfort.  
The bottle in the sand.  
The little girl’s letter.

> _Come take me away, I don’t care where_.  

Wondering who she was, whether she was happy.

He gestured helplessly towards where the remains of the bottle had been carefully swept into the trash can by his desk.  “I found a message in a bottle.  The bottle broke when I got the message out.”

Liam just continued to stare at him.  “You found a… message.  In a bottle?”

Killian nodded before grabbing his jacket and climbing out of the cabin.  His duffel bag was packed and ready in the bow, so he hefted it over his shoulder.  He leaned back down to see Liam staring at the broken glass, and called out, “Well?  Are you coming or not, brother?”

* * *

His prosthetic was under his bunk and the brace had been thrown clear across the cabin.  He rubbed lotion into his stump, trying to massage out the lingering soreness from the day’s sail.  The abrasions littering the skin, from unconsciously rubbing it against anything that would make the burning stop the night before, were stinging fiercely.  The pain focused him, allowed him to concentrate on the task and not the need for it.  They’d put in a good day’s work, the entire crew coming together with only a few hiccups after months on dry land.  If they kept this up, it would be a good summer.

Liam had graciously offered to take the night’s watch even though the first night at sea was usually Killian’s.  For once, he couldn’t help being grateful that his brother was as observant as he was.  Between the previous night’s activities and the long day fighting with his brace, Killian wanted nothing more than to crawl under his covers and sleep until morning bell.

Finally done with his arm, Killian snapped the top shut on the jar of lotion and set it on the shelf above his bed.  He folded his shirt neatly and shucked his pants in favor of the soft pajamas Elsa had given him for Christmas last year.  Draping his work pants over a chair, Killian had just turned back to his bunk when he noticed the slip of paper falling from a pocket.

He hadn’t even realized that he’d brought the letter with him.  

Killian wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the words on the page called to him.  He couldn’t get them out of his head.  Couldn’t get _her_ out of his head.  According to her birthday, she was not quite two years his senior, and he wanted - _needed_ \- to know that she had made it.  He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how to find out - she could be anywhere in the world by now - but he couldn’t let it go.

And he didn’t know why.

Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately considering his need for sleep - there was nothing he could do about it until they were back on dry land.  And even then, he had things that he needed to do, responsibilities to himself and his brother.

> _I don’t think anyone is going to find mine.  Nothing cool like that ever happens to me, so it doesn’t really matter what I write._

Could he really afford to expend the time and effort to track down the woman this nine-year old lost girl had become?

He fell asleep before he could come up with the answer.

The weekend flew by with only a few unforeseen hitches - fraying lines that should have been replaced and greenhand crew members who didn’t realize they got seasick until the middle of the cruise.

Emma’s words kept echoing in his head whenever he had a spare moment.

> _Anyway, we’re supposed to ask a question so that you have something to answer when you find this.  In the ocean.  Which is huge.  So it’s never gonna happen._

He had to give her that one.  It _was_ highly unlikely that her letter would have found its way to him, but it _had_.  And, at the very least, he wished there was some way he could give her that.

So he looked up the Home for Little Wanderers, called them, and was told in no uncertain terms that if there had ever been an Emma Swan in their system, that they couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him.

Right, he should have expected that.

There was no Emma Swan listed in the White Pages for Boston, and Google gave him so many listings for her that he had to admit defeat.

He went back to work on the _Jewel_ , and it was the end of June before he knew it.  The early season cruises were mostly school groups and weekend cruises around the harbor.  Killian preferred the former to the latter - something about teaching the local high school kids the ins and outs of old time sailing called to him.  

But high school students presented their own brand of problems - snide remarks from the ones who didn’t want to be there, and the girls who were more interested in watching him than the sails.  The weekend charters were undeniably less stressful, but also left him with time to _think_.  And more often than not, he thought about _her._

> _Well, you’ll probably be Captain Hook anyway, knowing my luck._

He’d heard the comment that one of the women on their “Thirty Before Thirty” cruise (he doubted a single one was under thirty) this morning.  Swooning over him and his brother as they greeted the group, the women had been all too willing to unbutton a few too many buttons on their shirts.

But then Patricia or Melinda or one of them had noticed the claw-like attachment that he used to secure the rigging.  “It’s too bad,” he’d heard her whisper.  “He’d be so good looking otherwise.”

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, and it certainly wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought himself - that he hadn’t come to believe himself - but it stung all the same.

He’d climbed high above the deck after that, spent hours among the sails and lines, just trying to forget.

June turned into July and brought the brothers to Newport for the Tall Ships festival.  It was more subdued this year than in the past as the majority of the ships were still on the west coast, having just completed the Pacific Coast challenge.  Regardless, Killian enjoyed the festive atmosphere, the ability to show off the _Jewel_ with the pride she deserved.  He loved telling stories of her beginnings, entertaining the children and families who boarded their vessel in search of adventure.  He could hear the street musicians throughout the day, smell the food the vendors were peddling, feel the sun on his face and the spray of the ocean in the wind.  There were fireworks at night, when the crew was free to wander the town.  It was the most freedom he’d felt since he and Liam had moved from England.

And still, he listened intently to every conversation around him.  Hoped someone would call out for “Emma”, wondered if she were here - walking the same streets and sampling the same local fare.  

He hadn’t forgotten about her, no, just put finding her to the back burner as the summer got into full swing and the _Jewel_ was out on the water from dawn until dusk - if not on multi-day charters north to Canada or down around the Cape.  July became August, and then it was Labor Day.  Every time he was on shore, he searched the internet, looking for any kind of trail that would tell him what had happened to her.

Was she married?  
Was that why he couldn’t find her?  
Was she alone, living frugally and keeping to herself?   
Was that why she was unlisted?

He wouldn’t consider the worst option.  
That she was another statistic in an overworked system.

* * *

“Little brother, you’ve got to let this go.”  Liam’s voice echoed through the basement where Killian was scouring the internet again.  He jumped a good foot off of his chair, then whirled around, slamming the laptop shut as he turned.

“I’m not-”

“You are.  You’re looking for her again.  You’re not going to find her, and I need you to let this go.  I need you to focus,” Liam said as he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

Killian seethed.  “Focus?  Have I been anything _but_ focused these last few months?  I’ve done everything you’ve asked, we’ve been more successful this year than any time in the past.  I’ve stopped drinking.  I’ve been early.  I’ve followed all of our rules.”

He paused, catching his breath.  “I’ve ignored every last person who has felt sorry for me or been disgusted by me or not left us a damn tip because they didn’t expect to deal with a damn cripple.  I need this.  Let me have this.”

To say Liam looked shocked was an understatement.  His mouth hung open, and there was a look of utter dismay on his face.  Killian could see his brother trying to form a thought, trying to come to terms with what he had missed.  There was nothing he could do now.

“Killian, I… I didn’t know.”

Killian smiled grimly.  “I didn’t want you to.  But this?  For whatever it’s worth, it helps.”

* * *

September flew by in the blink of an eye, and before Killian knew it, the schools were back in session and they were scheduling the last cruises of the season.  The days were getting shorter and the sunset cruises were their most popular bookings, but the crew was itching to be done for the season.

Killian hated the end of the season.  

When the _Jewel_ was winterized and shut down for the harsh winter.  
When Elsa started to pester him about when he was going to close up the _Jolly_ and come winter with them.  
When the nights grew longer and the per diem repair jobs he and Liam took on to supplement their income didn’t have the same hold over his thoughts as sailing did.

It was too much.

October brought the official last cruise of the season, a rare Indian Summer weekend that allowed the crew one last sail – just for themselves, no patrons to worry about or cater to.

It was heaven on earth.

But it was also the last time Killian was going to sail on the _Jewel_ until Memorial Day, so when they pulled in and he tied off the line to the cleat, his heart was heavy.

He moped around for a week before Liam had enough.

“I need you to go down to Boston for me,” Liam began.  “Some of the crew have signed on with the Liberty Fleet down there for the winter.  I’d bring them down myself, but you look like you could use some time out of town.  If you take them on the _Jolly_ , it shouldn’t take you more than a couple of days to get there.  Take a week, or even two, lose yourself in the city for a while.  The weather looks good for the next few weeks, so come back when you’re ready.  Then, we’ll figure out the plan for the winter.”

The sail was fairly uneventful.  He dropped the crew at Long Wharf, picked up some supplies from Liberty, and headed down to Constitution Marina where he moored his boat for two weeks.

And he wandered.  He walked the city and just lost himself for a few days.  There was history here, rich and rampant, and he loved every moment of it.

He did not love the multitudes of people who crowded the sidewalks in the morning and evening, so he stuck to his boat then.  But the harbor was just as calming as the evening walks, and with no set agenda in mind, he was able to relax – somewhere other than the _Jewel_ – for the first time in years.

He was scrolling through the Yellow Pages app on his phone, looking for a new place to eat – he had a craving for a good British meal – when he saw it:

** _ Emma Swan  
Bail Bonds _ **

It couldn’t be.

The odds that he’d found her, while not looking and on his vacation of sorts, was preposterous.  But he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try.  So he stuck her letter in his pocket, donned his leather jacket, and locked up the _Jolly_.

At the very least, if she wasn’t the same woman he was looking for, maybe she’d at least have a dinner recommendation for him.

The office was a little hole in the wall, and he passed it twice before finally noticing the small placard on the door.

What the bloody hell did he think he was doing?  Was he really going to just walk into this woman’s office at what was clearly the end of her business day with no plan?  Just ask her if, perhaps, she was the orphan who was looking for Captain Hook to come and save her?

Judging by the fact that he was already opening the door, yes – that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stopped breathing.  
His brain must have short-circuited.  
It was the only explanation for the way he stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman sitting behind the desk was beautiful.  Her long, blonde hair was pulled back severely, but it did nothing to hide the length and the sheen of it.  She was staring at him, one eyebrow raised high on her forehead, and the jade of her eyes was captivating.

But it was the fierce look in her glare - the one that spoke of years of heartbreak and walls so sky-high that no one could see the lost girl hiding behind them - that called to him.

A lost boy knows a lost girl, after all.


	2. Alee

“Can I help you?”  The woman - Emma, he hoped - watched him warily from her seat behind a large desk that had seen better days.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She sighed a moment later and Killian belatedly realized he still hadn’t said anything.  Her voice was exasperated as she asked, “Which one of your idiot friends needs me to bail them out of jail?  I can assure you the interest isn’t cheap and if they stiff me, I _will_ make them pay up.”

“Oh, um, no lass."  He was startled by her frank statement - and knew instinctively that it wasn't bravado.  It was just fact.  "Any of my idiot friends who would avail themselves of the need for a… for a bailbondsm… person, are safely up in Maine where the local constabulary deals with them.  Not that I have many friends who end up in jail.  Or any, really.  Except for Will, and he just needs to sleep one off every once in awhile.  Or steals library books.  Because he has a crush on Belle - she’s our librarian.  But other than that-”

“Then what are you here for?”  One of her eyebrows raised with the question and he stumbled on in explanation.

“Oh.  Um, well I’m hoping you’re the right Emma Swan.”  He watched her open a drawer to her right and, considering her chosen profession, he guessed there was a weapon there.  He held up both hands, then felt the beginnings of a shameful blush crawling across his face as he stuffed the left one quickly behind his back.  “I just came to tell you that I found your message.”

When he didn’t elaborate further, she stared at him, cocked her head to the side, and shook her head.

Chagrined, he reached for the pocket in his jeans, startling to a stop when she reached into the drawer as quickly as he’d moved.  

“I have it here, lass," Killian soothed as he telegraphed his intentions more slowly.  "If you’ll oblige me.”

He had folded the yellowed paper several times to fit it in his pocket, but as he flattened it out against his leg, it stubbornly curled back into the roll Emma had made years ago.  Resigned to handing her the letter in all its crumpled glory, Killian held it up and shook it at her for good measure before reaching forward and dropping it on the desk.  When her hand twitched, he stumbled back before he smiled self-deprecatingly.  He could feel the tips of his ears growing warm as she continued to stare at him, her fingers inching forward to smooth out the letter.

 _Her_ letter.

He hoped.

Bloody hell, what if it wasn’t the right Emma Swan?  
What if he’d gotten his hopes up and felt an immediate - if inexplicable - connection with this woman only to find out that she wasn’t the girl who had written that letter?  
What if she thought he was a fool, or worse - nothing more than a broken cripple grasping at importance?

What if she _was_ the right Emma Swan and she still thought that?

She unrolled the letter and dropped a stapler on top of it before pinching the bottom between her fingers.  Killian’s breath caught in his throat as she finally stopped glaring at him and looked down at the paper he’d dropped in front of her.  

The glare bled out of her features and shock replaced it.  Killian watched as she traced the handwriting on the page.  It was almost as if she were writing it again.

“I wrote this,” she whispered, but Killian could still hear the way her voice shook.  She didn’t look up at him, didn’t see the look of relief that he couldn’t hide.  “You said you found it?  Where?  When?  How?”

Almost positive that she wasn’t going to shoot him now, Killian stepped forward again and sat in one of the chairs opposite her.  “Aye, lass, I found it.  On the beach up in Maine one night when I was… well, it was almost 5 months ago.”  There was a twinge of pain racing down his left arm in remembrance of that night, and he silently willed his brain to _quit it!_ before clamping down on _those_ memories and focusing on Emma again.

There were worse things in life than watching a beautiful woman reclaim a piece of her childhood.

She was quiet for a long time, and Killian repeated the words of her letter over in his head as she silently read them for the first time in almost 20 years.

 

> _They each have a mom and a dad and Christmas presents and brand new clothes that no one else has worn.  I bet they never had to pack in a trash bag._

He knew what that was like, being handed a black bag amidst the indignity of being told to pack by yet another foster family that ‘just didn’t work out’.  
Having to walk back into the group home with every donated belonging that never quite fit his frame correctly shoved in a trash bag.  
Thinking there was… _knowing_ there was a neon flashing sign above his head announcing that everything about him was garbage.   
That _he_ was garbage.

He and Liam had been tossed to the curb by too many families to not still believe it.  Especially with everything else that had happened in his life since they’d clawed their way out of the system.

He hated the thought of this woman sitting in front of him knowing what that was like.

“Did you read it?”  Emma’s quiet words cut through the silence like a knife.  Killian could see the tense set of her shoulders, the pink tinge to her cheeks that could have been embarrassment or anger blossoming.  He broke eye contact and nodded, reaching up to scratch behind his ear.

“Aye.”

When she didn’t say anything further, Killian risked a glance up at her.  Emma was looking at him like he was dangerous, like he was something she’d never encountered before.

“And you still came to find me?”  Disbelief colored her tone, and Killian risked half a smile.  When she cocked an eyebrow at him with that same stare of confusion, he shrugged and let the other corner of his mouth twitch up into a tiny grin.

“Aye.  I had to.”

Her hand twitched towards the drawer at her right again, but didn’t reach for whatever she kept in there.  

“Why?”

That one word sounded so lost, so _broken_ , that he couldn’t speak for a full minute.  He knew now, beyond a doubt, that the hope he’d held onto - that she’d found her Prince Charming or a family to love her the way he and Liam had always wanted someone to love them - was smashed like a ship on the jetty in a storm.  Emma Swan was as devastated by the system as he had been.

It made him all the more glad that he’d finally found her.  He may not be worth anything to her, _or anyone else_ his helpful brain supplied, but at least he could give her this.  That the letter that had begged for someone to come and save her had not been lost, after all.

 _He_ had found it.  
He had found _her._

“Because you asked me to.”  Killian pointed his chin towards the letter.

Emma swallowed audibly, but didn’t say anything.  She didn’t stop staring at him, either, and it only took a moment for him to look away.  

 _He_ was the intruder, here.  
_He_ was the one who was less than whole.  
_He_ was the lost one.

Not her, it shouldn’t be her.

But she was like him - an orphan - adrift - still searching for that elusive _something_ that would make it all worth it.    
He could read it on her face as easily as if she were a novel.    
Maybe, if they played their cards right, they could find each other’s something.   _  
Be_ each other’s something.

His brother always complained that he was a dreamer, but _this_ was a good dream.

“Have dinner with me?”  The sound of his own voice startled him as much as it did her, and they both looked away quickly.

His heart was in his throat, waiting to see if his gamble would pay off.  He hadn’t had a plan coming in here, he hadn’t even dreamed about what he would do if it was actually her.  It had been a long time since he’d held even a kernel of hope, and now he was risking it with Em-

“Not a chance, buddy.”

His heart dropped into his stomach, and he felt her stamp on that kernel of hope until it fizzled and died.  Of course.  She deserved far better than him.

Killian nodded silently, taking a beat to summon the strength to walk out of her office with his head held high.  Feeling as though his limbs were weighed down by his disappointment, he managed to lever himself to his feet and adopted a semblance of a smile before he turned for the door.

“You haven’t even told me your name, you know.”  Emma’s voice stopped him before he could beat a hasty retreat.

He didn’t turn around, couldn’t look at her again.  “I’m no one, lass.  It doesn’t matter.”

Killian heard her chair slide back, could tell she was walking around the desk towards him.  “Well, no one, I’d still like to know the name of the man who came all the way down from Maine just to show me a letter I thought ended up buried in the muck at the bottom of the Charles.”

He could barely choke out, “Killian Jones, at your service.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean against the casing of the door, a hesitant smile gracing her features.  “How did you find me?”

Killian shrugged, still unable to make eye contact and wanting nothing more than to lock himself up in the _Jolly_ where it was safe and he wasn’t worthless.  “I was looking for a bite to eat today, saw your name as I was scrolling through the Yellow Pages.”

He left then, he didn’t... couldn't wait for her to laugh at him, to scorn him, to break him.  It took everything he had not to run down the hall.

“Jones?”  He stopped.  He couldn’t ignore her it seemed.  She took a deep breath, and he held his.  “Meet me at eight at Maggiano’s.  I’m sure your trusty Yellow Pages app can tell you how to get there.”

Killian grinned as his heart beat a staccato rhythm against his chest.  “I’ll find you.”

* * *

Maggiano’s was packed.  Killian only just managed to get in the door, convinced that he and Emma were never going to be given a table.  It took one look at the hostess’s harried expression for his expectations to plummet even further.  He smiled brightly, calling on the depths of the roguish character he had been in his youth, and was about to try and charm his way into a wait time of less than ‘tomorrow’ when he felt something tug at his prosthetic.

He was prepared to meet the apologetic - or disgusted - look of a mother pulling away her child who had inevitably gotten too curious.  It wouldn’t be the first time after all.  Killian whirled around and was alarmed when it was Emma grasping the realistic looking extension of his arm.  Realistic looking but not feeling, he knew.

He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.  He’d hidden it from her in the office easily enough - what with childishly hiding it behind his back and then shoving it deep into the armrest of the chair as he’d sat.  But to sit down in public with her and subject her to the stares he knew were directed at him when he wasn’t looking?

What was he _thinking_?

“Hey, Jones, come with me.  I got our reservation pushed back a half hour so we could take a walk.”  Emma’s voice soothed his tumultuous thoughts as she held fast to his hand.

He just stared for a moment.

“Come on, hotshot, it’s a nice night and I want to walk around the Garden before dinner without some creep hitting on me.”  She tugged lightly and he followed numbly, his eyes down to where her fingers clasped the silicone that simulated a natural hand.

She wasn’t wearing gloves.  It was the first thought that registered.  There was no way she didn’t notice that he wasn’t whole.  And she just… she didn’t seem to care.

He had wandered the city for long enough to know they were close to the Public Garden, but he couldn’t have said how long it took them to get there, how many times they had circled the pond before the white noise in his head gave way to the sounds of the evening, the sounds of idle chatter from the woman holding his hand.  It was dark in between the lights that dotted the pathway, and Killian could imagine the swan boats Emma was telling him about as if they were gliding through the water.  

It was like a dream.

“Killian?”  Emma stopped on the bridge, resting her arms on the metal railing and dragging his hand with her.

“Yes, lass?”  He couldn’t stop staring at the way her fingers wrapped around his, as they began to slowly intertwine with his.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he smiled reassuringly.  She was quiet for a few moments, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“We should get back, they won’t hold our table for long.”  He saw her face fall, and knew that whatever she’d been ready to say, it _wasn’t_ that.

His own mask firmly in place, Killian let her off the hook with a gracious, “Aye, of course.”

Dinner went surprisingly well, the din of the restaurant an easy backdrop to their conversation.  They spoke of her job and his, of the time he knocked Liam overboard because the idiot wouldn’t stop talking like a pirate, of how she met her friend August after chasing him halfway across the city because she thought he was the skip she was after.

They didn’t speak about her childhood or his, but he had no more intention of broaching that subject than she did.

Things only became tense when Emma saw the skip she was originally supposed to meet here for the evening - her mysterious reservation making more sense to him now - but she let the man go.  There would be other nights, she assured Killian.

Killian didn’t want to imagine her sitting down to dinner with another man, content to peruse the dessert menu instead.

They ended up splitting a piece of zuccotto cake while sipping Irish coffees, the mingling tastes making Emma smile in a way Killian wanted to see every day.

He was falling hard.

“Can I walk you home, luv?” he asked hesitantly as he helped Emma into her jacket before shrugging into his own.  The red leather accented the green of her eyes perfectly, and he was captivated by the sparkle there.

It was there because she was smirking at him.  “Nice try.  I like you, Jones, but I’m not ready for you to know where I live.  Can I give you a lift to your… hotel?”

It was worth a try anyway.  “No hotel, Emma.  My boat’s berthed up in the North End.”

“You live on a boat?”  She was incredulous.  “It’s almost winter!”

He laughed.  “You sound like my brother’s wife.  It’s quite warm in my quarters, but I only stay there until Elsa drags me back to the house.  Coming down here, it was the easier option.”

He didn’t tell her that on the _Jolly Roger_ there were no well meaning housekeeping staff to open his shampoo bottles and unwrap the soap as if he couldn’t accomplish those tasks himself.  It had only happened once, but it was more than enough for him.

Emma shook her head.  “Come on, I can at least give you a ride.”

“Trust you not to abscond with me and leave me destitute on a roadside somewhere?  I don’t know...”  Killian smirked, banishing his dark thoughts and joking with her.

Emma just rolled her eyes and pointed to the yellow Bug he had seen earlier outside her office.  “Get in.”

It didn’t take Emma long to navigate the traffic and pull off the highway into the marina’s parking lot.  Killian expected her to just drop him off, but to his delight she found a parking spot and cut the engine.  She followed him out of the car and took his hand in hers again as they wandered down the sidewalk near the docks until they found a bench.  

Sitting next to Emma, overlooking the boats and the moon on the water, Killian couldn’t think of a single better place to be.

All too soon, the chill from the New England October evening set Emma’s jaw as minute shivers started to wrack her frame.  There were blankets on the _Jolly_ , other sweatshirts she could borrow, and he was about to suggest he run and get her something when she leaned against his side, almost - but not quite - snuggling.

He took the hint and tugged her into his side with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.  Her hair tickled his nose, and Killian was positive that he’d wandered into a dream.

They sat there until even Killian was chilled, his temple resting on the crown of her head, her hand resting on his knee.

The taste of salt in the air, the smell of herbal shampoo in his nose, the feel of her thumb idly soothing back and forth on his knee, it all lulled him into a sense of ease he hadn’t felt in years.

“Why did you come looking for me?”  She didn’t stop the motion of her thumb, didn’t lift her head from his shoulder, just whispered her question into the space in front of them.

 _Because we’re the same._  
Because it hurts me to think you might hurt, too.  
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.  
Because if you found happiness, maybe I can too, someday.

_Because I wanted to save someone._

Instead, he answered with, “I told you, luv, because you asked me to.”

Emma shook her head, a tiny laugh bursting free before she could stifle it.  “A nine-year old girl writes a letter looking for someone to take her away from a system that breaks more than it heals, and you come rushing to the rescue?  Fancy yourself a real Prince Charming, do you?”

 

> _So my question is this.  If you’re reading this, and you are a Prince Charming… or even if you’re Captain Hook, can you come save me or kidnap me or something?_

It was his turn to shake his head and laugh, but his was derisive.  “No Prince Charming, I’m afraid, Swan.  I’m a regular villain.  You asked for Captain Hook and you’re going to have to settle for him.  I fit all the qualifications.”

The burn where his left hand should have been was sharp and immediate, a stark reminder that he couldn’t be what she needed, couldn’t be whole for her.

Emma huffed and reached for his prosthetic.  Killian was caught up in the childish impulse to pull it away from her, hold it high above her head so she couldn’t reach, but he wasn’t able to.  Instead, he was paralyzed as she wrapped her hand around the brace this time, squeezing until he could feel her grip.

“Don’t let this define you, Killian,” she whispered fiercely before standing abruptly and tugging him up, too.  He was reeling from everything she’d awoken in him tonight, and he didn’t even realize Emma was kissing him until she bit at his lip, the pain driving the fire in his hand from his mind.

She had his left arm trapped between them, his prosthetic resting on her chest as she gripped his hair - _hard_ \- with her free hand.  The twin, sharp, stinging sensations obliterated any rational thought from him, and Killian gave as good as he got.   They battled for dominance , the world around them forgotten in the heady sensation of the kiss.  When the need for air outweighed the need for _more_ of her, Killian pulled back regretfully, grinning as she chased his lips.

His right hand had snuck beneath the hem of her sweater, the heat of the skin at her lower back like fire along his palm - this one a good inferno that he wanted to feel more of.  He reveled in the contrast between _this_ fire and the one he sought to douse on a far too regular basis, and he missed her nuzzling along his cheek until she nipped at his earlobe.

The whispered, “I think there’s time for a nightcap aboard your ship, sailor,” threatened to consume him, but there was something in her tone that pulled him back.

He wanted this - _her_ \- for more than tonight.  He wanted to court her properly, see where this could lead, make a real go of it.

The look in her eyes let him know that in no uncertain terms, she didn’t expect the same thing.

He smiled even as he put distance between them, between her wandering hands and the lure of losing himself in her for a little while.  “I’d like to see you again, Swan.”

She froze, the spell between them broken.  “What?”

Killian tried not to react to the tugging in his gut as she stepped back from him.  He wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret the look on her face, a mixture of anger and fear and confusion.  Had no one ever wanted more than one night with her?  Had no one ever treated her like this before - like a woman who deserved to be understood, to have someone want to get to know her?

“I’d like to get to know you better, if you’re amenable.  And I have a feeling that if we go back to the _Jolly Roger_ right now, you’re not going to let that happen.”  There was a lump in his throat that he nearly choked on as he put his heart on his sleeve and prayed that she wouldn’t crush it.  “Please, Emma, will you go out with me again?”  

He didn’t break eye contact, he didn’t move, he didn’t dare _breathe_ as Emma made up her mind.  She squinted at him, scrutinizing him, and it felt like she was burrowing past every wall that he had erected after Milah realized she shouldn’t take a chance on someone who couldn’t protect her.

Not that he could blame her.

And he wouldn’t blame Emma, either, if she were smart enough to-

“Is tomorrow good for you?”

Now it was his turn to stare.  The words were English, in the right order, and grammatically correct.  But he couldn’t make sense of them.  She’d agreed?

“Y-yes, of course.  I can meet you at your office, or…” Killian trailed off, unsure.  He’d like to take her out on his boat, sail her around the harbor since the weather was supposed to stay in the upper 50s.  But could he ask her to drive all the way back here when she’d agreed to go on another date with him?

Emma looked out over the water, smiling.  “You find us a lunch and I’ll meet you here.  I really do want to see this boat you live on.”

Killian grinned.  “Dress warmly, luv.  It’s a mite cold when the wind picks up.”

She nodded, leaning in to kiss him again.  It was softer this time, a promise of more and maybe a beginning if they could both peek out from their high-walled fortresses.

Killian walked her back to the car some time later, leaning in for a last kiss when she was situated in the driver’s seat.  The shivers that ran up and down his spine weren’t entirely from the cold weather seeping underneath his jacket.

“Oh, and Emma?”  Killian was halfway through shutting the door when he thought of something.  He made a point of looking at his watch, waiting until she glanced at the clock on the dashboard to continue.

 **12:14AM**.

“Happy birthday, luv.”

* * *

The trip to a beyond hectic Mike’s Pastry early that morning for a combination of cannoli and cupcakes (complete with birthday candle dug out of a drawer on the _Jolly_ ) was worth it for the look on Emma’s face alone.  Seriously, based on the Yelp reviews, Killian knew it would be good, but the sounds the dessert drew from Emma made him want to go back and tip the owner.

The weather held throughout the day, and Killian could tell Emma was as in love with sailing as he was.  The sail around the harbor was a success, but when they finally pulled back into the berth for the _Jolly_ , Emma was wearing his hoodie as well as his leather jacket.

The fact that she was pressed in between his body and the ship’s wheel, a blanket wrapped around them both, made up for losing the layers against the cold.

(If he conveniently forgot the drawers full of warm clothes below decks, well who could blame him?)

He made short work of securing the _Jolly_ to the dock, jumping back on board to find Emma curled up with a blanket on some of the floatation cushions in the bow, the bottle of wine he’d left in the cooler now finally uncorked.  He settled down next to Emma, relaxed against the fiberglass hull, and drew her close with his arm draped over her shoulders.

They shared most of the bottle, speaking softly and trading easy kisses.  The sun set over the city, painting the ocean and the sky as it dipped behind the skyline and then, somewhere, the horizon.

Neither of them saw the color disappear into the dark of night.

It’s only when Killian shivered that Emma pulled back, and he missed their closeness immediately.  She looked up to the sky, searching, and only after she found what she was looking for did she ease back against his chest, drawing the blanket over them both.

“Make a wish,” she whispered, her chin jutting upwards towards the only star in the sky.

Killian smiled, hugging her tight to him as he slowly warmed up.  “It’s still your birthday, luv, the star’s yours to wish on.”

* * *

The good thing about being your own boss in a little known office, she told him as they wandered the Freedom Trail the next afternoon, was that no one yelled at you if you didn’t open for the day.  He was concerned that she’d lose business, but he couldn’t deny the appeal to learning the city’s history from her.  They grabbed food in Faneuil Hall, wandered back to the marina, and spent the evening in his new favorite place - under a blanket with her wrapped in his arms while he told her stories of the constellations.

They spent the entire week playing tourist in the city - the aquarium, a Bruins game, a show at the Opera House.  On Thursday, she took him to the USS Constitution, smiled as he asked question after question, held his hand in hers when a particularly snooty woman turned her nose up at him.

For the first time since he’d lost his hand, he didn’t care what that woman thought.

It was getting cold out, and Emma wouldn’t hear about it when they piled back in her car after dinner, turning up the heat and driving in the opposite direction of the marina.

Her apartment was sparse, but from the minute he walked in the door, he was overwhelmed with the sense of _her_.  They lounged on the couch for awhile, content to be alone together with nothing more to capture their attention than the lights of the city - the only thing illuminating the apartment.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, breathing in the scent of her and wondering what they would do over the weekend, wondering what Liam would think of Emma.

He woke up cold, the blanket pooled on the floor by his feet, the sun just starting to rise.

He was alone in the living room.

“Emma?” Killian called out quietly, wondering if she was in the bathroom.  He got no response.

Padding down the hall, he came to her bedroom door, surprised to find it closed.  He could hear her pacing the room beyond.  “Emma, luv?”

The knob turned in his hand when he tried it, but the door wouldn’t open.  Something barred his entrance.

“Go away.”  Emma’s voice was high-pitched, almost cutting.

He tried the door again.  “What’s wrong?  Let me in, darling, please.”

“No.  Go home, Killian.  Go back to Maine.  This was a mistake.”  She sounded angry, and it made his blood run cold.

“Swan?”  His voice cracked.

He berated himself.  He didn’t get to keep nice things.  How could he have forgotten this one simple rule?

“Killian, just go.  This was a one-time thing.  I don’t want to see you any more.”

If she’d sounded upset, or scared, or anything but angry at him, he might have stayed.  Might have fought for her.  But he knew he deserved this, he had known it wouldn’t be long before she realized he wasn’t good enough for her.  But oh had he hoped.

He should count himself lucky that she cut him off before it got worse.  Before he started to think that maybe he could find a happy ending.

A man who doesn’t fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.

But he never thought he deserved anything but a life of heartbreak, so why delay the inevitable?

Killian was in a daze as he made his way across the city, only just managing the wherewithal to take the right trains back to the marina.  It didn’t take long to stow his gear, pay his docking fees to a half-asleep harbor master who handed him a weather report with a glare, and maneuver out into the harbor.

He knew better than to sail like this, but he had to get out of the city.  He needed to go home.  Back to Liam and Elsa who wouldn’t ask too many questions, but would give him a tangible reason to stay away from the Rabbit Hole and its bottom shelf rum - good for nothing more than forgetting.

He’d promised Liam he’d be better.  He’d promised _himself_.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon to the east, the wind was frigid, the weather report he really should have paid attention to was forgotten.  He just wanted to go home.

He left Boston behind, put his sails into the wind, and began to sail north.


	3. Any Port in a Storm

_She had made a serious mistake._

That was the first thing that crossed her mind when she woke up, curled into Killian’s side on her couch.  Emma wasn’t entirely sure what had startled her out of slumber, but she realized suddenly that she wasn’t in her bed, she wasn’t alone, and she had let her walls down enough to let him stay.

She panicked.

How Killian didn’t hear her when she stumbled over the blanket as it pooled around her ankles, Emma would never understand.  She banged her shin on the coffee table and cursed under her breath before biting her lip, freezing in place as she stared down at Killian.  Her heart was in her throat as he shifted on the couch - and then settled back into sleep.  

He should have woken up.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Emma thanked her luck as it allowed her to bolt from the room.

The bathroom was too small, the kitchen too open.  There was a hall closet, but the last time she’d hidden in one of those, she had been small and had been hiding from a drunk foster parent.  That wasn’t the kind of memory she wanted now.  

She needed calm.  
She needed to calm down.  
She needed to breathe.  

Killian would look for her in the bedroom, and there was no lock.  Emma turned circles in her hallway before throwing her hands up and grabbing a chair - it had worked in the group homes when she needed just five minutes of _peace_ \- it would have to work here.

The snick of the door latching shut settled her a bit, but she still needed to get a hold of herself.

Emma leaned back against the wall next to her bedroom door, eyeing the back of the chair where she had wedged it under the doorknob.  If only she could lock out her tumultuous thoughts as easily as she could lock Killian out of her room.

She needed him to stay asleep.   
She needed him to stay out of her head while she figured out what the _hell_ had happened.  
She needed to know how the hell he’d wheedled his way so deeply into her thoughts.

She needed to _think_.

Emma wasn’t sure how to deal with any of this.  

Abruptly, she shoved herself away from the wall and began to stalk across the floor, the brush of carpet under her bare feet all she wanted to focus on.

Not the brush of his lips against hers.  
Not the feel of his fingers through her hair.  
Not the self-loathing in his eyes that broke her heart every time she so much as glanced at his prosthetic.

Certainly not the way he made her feel like she was worth it.  Like taking a chance with him would be the best decision she’d ever made.

Emma Swan wasn’t allowed to have nice things.  She knew it, the world knew it, Killian would eventually figure it out.  She was too broken to get this.  Get him.

Keep him.

If she could make him realize this now, maybe they both could walk away unscathed.  But she still didn’t know how.

“Emma, luv?”  Instinctively, she turned towards his voice, her heart racing like it always did around him.  She watched in trepidation as the doorknob turned.  If he came in now, she’d never let him go.

She didn’t think she’d stop it if the chair fell and the door opened.

But the chair held.

Emma paced over to the door.  Screw it, she wanted him here to comfort her.  To pull her into one of his hugs and just hold her.  To make her forget.

_No_.  No, she couldn’t.  If she let him in now, she’d start to think she could keep him.

Emma backpedaled away from the door again.

“Go away.”  The tone of her voice surprised her.  She’d intended it to sound matter-of-fact, not petrified.

The door rattled.  “What’s wrong?  Let me in, darling, please.”

God, she wanted to let him in - to comfort _him_ and let him wrap _her_ up in his arms in return.  To heal them both.

She couldn’t.

She’d _break_ them both.

“No.  Go home, Killian.  Go back to Maine.  This was a mistake.”  Anger.  Anger was safe.  It would mask whatever else was running through her treacherous thoughts.

The taste of salt startled her, and Emma was shocked to realize she was crying.  When was the last time she had even- Emma bit her tongue to stop the tears, intent on getting him out of her apartment before he heard her sorrow.

Emma was sure he’d break down the door to get to her if he figured it out.  Figured out that she was the problem here, and not him.  Never him.

“Swan?”  His voice cracked.

Her breath caught.  The sheer emotion he exuded in that one word - her _name_.  She almost caved.

She couldn’t.  He needed to go.  For both their sakes.

“Killian, just go.  This was a one-time thing.  I don’t want to see you any more.”  She put as much vehemence into it as she could, hoping to disguise the way her voice wanted to crack as much as his did.

She was rewarded with the sound of his feet shuffling back down the hall.

When the front door shut quietly, as if Killian had taken care to catch it before it could make a sound to startle her, she gave up the facade and collapsed in her bed, curled up in the smallest ball she could manage.  

He should be angry.   
He _should_ have slammed the door until it rattled her walls.  
He should have stormed out, righteous and indignant.

That’s what she wanted, but she knew better - that wasn’t him.

The tears fell hard and fast, and Emma did nothing to stop them.

* * *

When she pried her eyes open a few hours later, the sun she’d thought was going to be high in the sky was hiding behind a wall of gray clouds.  The idiots on the radio earlier in the week had been calling for a significant amount of snow, but then the storm dissipated or went out to sea or something else ridiculous.   It would be cold, they had said the night before, but it didn’t look like anything would come of the storm system.

But there had been a damn tornado a few months before that had ripped through the state, and Emma lived in New England partially because there weren’t supposed to _be_ tornadoes here.  So who knew what the meteorologists and the weather systems would come up with next.  She half-expected to end the day with a nor’easter.  It was a bit early for a blizzard, but stranger things had happened.

Staring out over the skyline of the city, Emma wondered what Killian thought of the weather.  If he would be warm enough on his boat.  If he would stay in the city until the storm that was brewing over the horizon decided what it was doing.  Much like Emma’s mood at the moment.

If he would try to fight for her.

He was, quite possibly, the strangest man she had ever met.  The thought had crossed Emma’s mind several times over the past few days with him.  From the minute Killian Jones had stumbled through her office door and tripped over his explanation of what he was doing there, she’d been intrigued.  Who _was_ this man who would take her childhood letter - the one she would have sworn was going to end up lost in the muck and nothing more than forgotten trash just like her - and track her down over several months with no other motive than because he wanted her to know someone cared about what she’d written almost twenty years ago?

Someone who she knew deserved better than her, that’s who.

_She had made a serious mistake._

Killian didn’t need to fight for her.  She needed to fight for _him_.

The thought ripped through her consciousness like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head.  He wasn’t Neal, or Walsh, or the handful of men whose names she didn’t even remember.  He wasn’t even Graham - a ‘what could have been’ wrapped up in a ‘maybe’ wrapped up in a ‘never had a chance’.

He was good to her - good _for_ her.

That first night when Killian had rebuffed her advances - the very night they’d met and she wanted to fall into bed and then forget him - she’d immediately thought _why am I not good enough for this_ , and then, when she realized what he wanted, _what on Earth does he see in me_.

And then _I want to get to know him better, too_.

So she had thrown caution to the wind.  
Taken down her walls as much as she was able and _talked_ with him.  
Had fun with him.   
_Lived_ her life instead of hiding from it.

And he had done the same.

* * *

_“Did you ever talk to someone about… you know?”  Emma asked quietly one evening, curled up under a blanket in the Jolly Roger’s cockpit while they watched the rain lash down over the deck beyond the hatch._

_Her fingers were wrapped around his brace, squeezing every time he leaned over and kissed her hair.  She could feel his smile against her scalp when he felt the grip._

_“Aye, the Navy made me after it happened.  Then Liam made me keep up with it for a while when we moved to the States.”  His arm tightened across her shoulders, and she could feel the tension as he fought the need to flee into the downpour._

_His voice was choked when he finally continued, a long enough time passing that she thought he wouldn’t say anything else about it.  “Do you know what they all said?  To have_ hope _.  To have a positive outlook.  That with today’s advancements in prosthetics, it would be like I never lost my hand.”_

_Killian did stand up, then.  He moved from the small bench to the ship’s wheel, resting the prosthetic on one of the spokes and curling the fingers around it with his free hand.  “And some days, they’re_ right _.  Some days, when I’m out on the water and it’s just me and the wind and the horizon, I can forget.  I_ do _forget.  But what the bloody wankers neglect to tell you is that when you look down, and when your hand still isn’t there, it hurts even more than the day you lost it.  To know that, for an instant, you thought you could possibly be whole again.”_

* * *

She’d wrapped him in a hug that night, ignoring his tears as they soaked her hair and pretending that her own weren’t soaking his shirt.  Killian was just as broken as her - differently maybe - but just as lost in the world, and just looking for a better way.

She wanted to find that way with him.  
She wanted him in her bed when she woke up.  
She wanted to see what lazy mornings hiding from the weather would be like.

She wanted to stop running.

But she’d hurt him, and she’d lost him - just as sure as she’d lost everyone who ever tried to breach her walls.  She deserved to be alone, to let him make the next move.  So she forced herself to get up and start the day.

She’d shower, then she’d clean the apartment from their evening together, and she’d try not to think about Killian.

The crumpled blanket on the floor in front of the couch threw that plan right out the window.

It started raining some time in the afternoon, the wind whipping the rivulets running down her window into mesmerizing patterns.  She was warm and comfortable in her apartment, wrapped in the blanket from the night before as well as Killian’s hoodie that she had stolen that first night on the _Jolly Roger_ .  The tracks of the rain down the windows matched the tracks running down her face, and she thought it again - _she had made a serious mistake_.

Whether or not she deserved him, whether or not she could keep him, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that she wanted to _try_.  And she hoped that would be enough.

Grabbing her leather jacket and racing down the stairs before she even had it on, Emma bolted for her car and headed to the marina.

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ wasn’t in her berth.

Emma wasn’t sure what she expected - but the empty space at the dock certainly wasn’t it.  He _couldn’t_ have left, he wouldn’t have sailed out into this rain.  Surely he wasn’t so angry with her that he wouldn’t wait until the weather cleared up a bit.  But then again, if he had left immediately after she kicked him out, maybe it was still clear enough to sail.

The harbor master grumbled as she opened the door, but he confirmed her worst fears - Killian had sailed out fully aware of the incoming weather.

He had been so angry with her that he hadn’t cared to stay.  He had risked his safety just to get away from Boston.  Away from _her_.

Emma Swan didn’t get to have nice things.  Everyone from her birth parents to the Swans to the men she wanted to share her life with told her that again and again and again.  She should have learned by now.

She made it back to her apartment, but she didn’t know exactly how.  There was a bottle of rum with her name on it, but she didn’t pull it out.  She didn’t deserve to forget what she had done, who she had lost.  But Emma also didn’t want to think about just one more person in her life abandoning her.

So she cleaned the bathroom.  
And the kitchen.  
And changed the sheets on her bed.  
And shoved the blanket they had both curled up under into the hall closet.  

She made herself keep going until it was almost dark, until there was nothing left to do but sit.  Stare out the windows.

Be alone.

The wind had been picking up all afternoon, and now that Emma had nothing else to concentrate on, she realized just how loud it sounded - just how violent the gusts were.

Killian was _sailing_ in this?

Sure, he had a motor that could take over if he didn’t want to - or couldn’t - use the sails.  He could take control of the wheel as well as the propulsion, trim the sails or whatever it was that he had tried to teach her that day.  Still, Emma didn’t know much about boating but she was pretty sure that small craft like his weren’t made for conditions like this.

She picked up her cell phone to call him, and froze - how had they survived a week in this day and age without trading cell phone numbers?  Emma had left hers on a scrap of paper in his quarters, but they’d managed to spend so much time together over the past week that it hadn’t mattered.  Whenever she’d turned around, it had seemed, he was there.  With a story or a question.  With gentle smiles and intertwining fingers.  Passionate kisses and soft ones.  Warm eyes and a warm embrace.

And now, when she needed to hear his voice, hear her tell him that he was safely on land somewhere - _anywhere_ \- out of this storm?  She had no way to reach him.

Google was less than helpful.  There was a listing for _The Brothers Jones’ Charter Tours_ in the town he had mentioned, but the phone number was to a business line that went unanswered.  It wasn’t even his voice on the message - even if the accent was similar.

It wasn’t what she needed to hear - _who_ she needed to hear.

Unsure of what else she could do, Emma cleaned the kitchen.  Again.

She eyed the bottle of rum, closer to believing that she should tell herself to ignore what she did or didn’t deserve and forget for a night.

But then the wind gusted, rattling through the buildings and down the alleys far below, and she could only imagine how rough it would be out on the open ocean.

Emma didn’t know what she was doing, getting in her car and setting the GPS for Storybrooke with the winds picking up and the snow beginning to fall.  She only knew that he wasn’t listed in the damn Yellow Pages.  Or the White Pages.  Or on Google.  Or any other way she had thought of to find him.  Emma did this for a living, and she couldn’t do anything to find Killian.

She had to know if he was all right, if he beat the storm back home.

Even if he didn’t want anything more to do with her, she had to know for sure.

Before she was even out of Boston, Emma turned the radio off, not wanting to hear about how the meteorologists were wrong again.  They were interrupting the broadcasts repeatedly, cutting in over the multimillion dollar artists to say that parts of western Massachusetts might get multiple _feet_ of snow.  People should stay off the roads - stay in their homes where it was warm and safe.  Shelters were already opening for the multiple power outages being reported.  The wind gusts were doing serious damage and crews were being inundated trying to get ahead of the storm.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant for Killian’s small boat somewhere in the Atlantic.  
She didn’t want to think about what that meant for her little Bug, puttering its way north towards Maine.

She just had to get there.

The wind picked up as she sped through New Hampshire, just in the state long enough to grimace before she was into Maine.  Her car slid occasionally.  The tires had needed to be replaced months ago but that was an expense she thought she could put off until actual winter.  Not halfway through the fall when the leaves were still on the trees.  

The highway was a mess.  There was slush and ice and water all over the roads, and the plows were nowhere to be seen.  And that was on the main roads.  By the time the GPS chimed that she should get off the exit, Emma was sure that the only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that somewhere out on the ocean, Killian had to be having a worse journey than she was.  That she needed to find him in his own town.

That he needed to see she was willing to be brave.

For him.

Then the heat died out in the Bug.  Emma grabbed the blanket she hadn’t been able to leave in Boston, stuffing it under the steering wheel and over her legs.  She gritted her teeth and pushed on, passing the miles and the hours by working out what she would say to Killian.  How she would explain.

It didn’t take all that long - she had a feeling Killian would understand.  She had a feeling that her actions would speak for her.

She had a feeling he was used to being left just as much as she was.

Emma wanted nothing more than to dispel that feeling forever.  For both of them.

The wind picked up surprisingly more violently as Emma wound her way through the woods, trying not to think what would happen if-

The wheels spun.  
The car skidded uncontrollably towards the right shoulder.  
The ice on the road made recovering impossible.  
The screech of metal on metal assaulted her ears.  
The explosion of pain across her forehead obliterated everything else.  
The eerie silence that followed was drowned out by the ringing in her ears.  
The last image she saw was “Welcome to Storybrooke”, written in huge, dark letters on a white background.

_She had made a serious mistake._

* * *

_Why is it so cold?_  

The thought flitted idly through her thoughts as she blinked slowly.  There was a blanket over her legs and something hard against her forehead.

Which hurt.  A lot.

Emma sat back slowly, groaning aloud as the movement made her entire body hurt.  A shiver wracked her frame and it tore a whimper from her throat.  She looked around to see who else was with her and why they weren’t huddled under the blanket with her.  And then time caught up with her and she realized she was the one who made the sound.

There was no one with her.

_Why is it so cold?_

She shifted until her hands grasped the edge of the blanket, biting back another sound as she pulled the fleece up to her chest.  The seatbelt dug into her shoulder and ribs, stinging and aching all at the same time.  _Seatbelt?_

She was in a car - in her Bug.  

Her cell phone had fallen into the footwell of the passenger seat.  She needed it.  She needed to call for help.

She couldn’t reach it.

Because of the seatbelt.  Digging into her side.  Emma scrabbled for the release button at her side, gasping at the sound as the belt snapped back and wincing as it dragged across her chest.

She strained over the center console, stretching as far as she could in the cramped confines to just barely touch the corner of her phone.

She sagged, relaxed for a moment.

Her eyes drooped.  She was so tired.

_Why is it so cold?_

_Is Killian this cold?_

Thoughts of Killian jolted her awake - the cell phone still maddeningly out of reach, the shivering only getting worse.

Once more, Emma stretched out around the console, jamming her foot into the door and ignoring the aches that ignited, pushing until she could wrap her fingers around the little device.

No service.

Of course.

Her options were limited.  She didn’t have enough warm clothing in the car with her, just an emergency bag with a change of clothes in case she was stuck on a stakeout overnight.  She couldn’t really stay here, not with the storm barreling down on her and no one in their right mind out on the road.  She couldn’t call for help, she couldn’t walk off into the dark, she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t go.

Her eyes closed again.  She’d decide in just a few minutes.

_Why is it so cold?_

* * *

The hand that was shaking her was warm.  So warm through the thin material of her sweater that she managed to crack her eyes open to stare at it.  A large hand, weathered and tanned skin peeking out from the cuff of a dark sweater, rested on the crook of her elbow.

“Lass?  Can you hear me?  Are you all right?”  That accent...

Emma’s head snapped up so quickly, she saw sparks of lightning explode across her field of vision.  How had he-

But no.  Of course it wasn’t Killian.  He’d told her it took him two days to sail down from Maine.  And that was in good weather.  Even giving him the full day’s head start like she had, he would be fighting the wind all the way up the coast.  It couldn’t be him.

It wasn’t.

“Lass?”

His eyes were the same, even if his hair wasn’t.  
His voice held the same warmth to it, even if it rang in her ears just a little bit differently.  
When he leaned back and turned to look over his shoulder, she could see that his build was larger.

Not Killian.

Emma shivered.  There was a heavy coat over her chest - it smelled like the ocean, almost like Killian but not quite.  She reached up distractedly, tugging the wool closer to her nose, wanting to curl up in it and fall back asl-

“Stay awake, lass.  Stay with us.”

_Us?_  Emma craned her neck back towards where the man was looking, but the snow was doing funny things to her vision, scattering her thoughts and making her forget who she was looking for.

There was so much snow, the wind whipping it around the sign in front of her car, _into_ her car, onto the blanket she and Killian had been curled up under.  So much snow had already fallen, accumulating on the road that she had been driving on, trying to get to Storybrooke, trying to find out if Killian had-

No.  No, Killian wouldn’t be here yet.  She would have beat him here.  She could be waiting for him at the dock.  If he made it.  If the storm hadn’t taken him from her before she had the opportunity to take a chance with him.

Emma wasn’t allowed to have nice things.  But oh how she wanted this one.

Wanted him.

Even if everyone she’d ever been with left her.  Abando-

A woman’s voice broke into Emma’s thoughts, startling her out of the spiral.  “Victor said the ambulance is across town.  Said it would be awhile before they could get here and we aren’t even their next stop.  Is she all right?”

“I’m not sure, Elsa.  She’s awake, I think.”  The man turned back to her, reaching out to tilt her head towards him.  Emma tried to focus on his face.

He had the same look in his eyes as Killian.  Sad but determined.  A little bit lost.  The look that comes with being abandoned.  But he had someone with him, so maybe Emma was just projecting.

“Can you hear me?” he tried again, smiling a little when she finally focused on him.

“I’m okay,” she managed to whisper.  Emma bit her lip against the shiver that wanted to wrack her frame.  “I’m just cold.”

The man looked skeptical, cocking his eyebrow just like Killian did as he looked her over.  “What were you doing out in this weather?  It’s mad to be driving now.”

Emma stared over his shoulder at the truck he’d clearly been driving himself.  Her brow furrowed incredulously.  She aborted that when it brought an explosion of lights and pain.  “Ow.”

He brushed his thumb over her forehead.  “You’re going to have a nasty bruise there, I think.  Do you remember what happened?”

The terrifying moments before everything went dark came back to her.  She nodded, clenching her eyes shut as if that would block the memory.  She shivered as his hand dropped away from her face.

“It’s going to take too long to get an ambulance out here.  We’ve got to get you warmed up.  Do you think you can get out of the car?  We’ll take you into town, there’s a hospital where they can look you over.”  He was already reaching in front of her, untucking the jacket and blanket so she could move freely.  Damn, it was so cold.

“Don’t need the hospital.  Just need to get to Storybrooke.”  Emma wanted a hot shower, a bed, and directions to where she could find Killian.

“All the same, lass, I’d feel better if we got you checked out.  It won’t take too long.  Please?”  It was the please that got her.  She nodded, and let him help her out of the Bug.

They were both right - it didn’t take long for a Dr. Whale to look her over, and she was discharged with instructions to take it easy.  A minor concussion and mild hypothermia.

Elsa insisted that she accompany them back to their house.  Granny’s was closed for the storm, the woman explained, and that was the only place in town where Emma could have found a room.

They got back into the truck, squeezed onto the bench as they navigated slowly across town.  It didn’t take too long for them to shepherd her into a brightly lit house - a real _home_.

“What were you doing out in this weather, anyway?”  The man - Liam, his name was - asked as he unfolded another blanket, draping it over her shoulders as Elsa handed her a mug of tea.  “No offense, lass, but we’ve never seen you around, and we don’t get too many strangers here.”

“I needed to come to Storybrooke.  I need to find Killian Jones.  He… I need to talk to him.”  Emma looked down at the dark liquid, just happy to be cradling the mug in her hands and chasing some of the chill away.

“Well you’ve come to the right place, but you’ve got the wrong Jones.”  Emma looked up sharply - she hadn’t made the connection even with it staring her in the face.  

Liam smiled gently.  “My little brother is in Boston at the moment, lass, on a fool’s errand to find a girl who threw a message in a bottle into the ocean when she was a kid.”  He laughed wryly as he shook his head.  There was exasperation there, but also a warmth that Emma couldn’t recognize.

Her shoulders slumped, reminded of what she’d had and lost to her own demons.  She nodded.  “He found her.  That was me.  My letter.”

Liam’s head shot up and every muscle in his body tensed.  “What?  If he found you, then why are you looking for him?  Where’s Killian?”

He stepped forward and knelt in front of her, gripping her forearms just this side of painfully.  His tone was sharp when he demanded, “Where’s my brother?”

Emma flinched, old habits flaring to the surface before she could mask them.  To his credit, Liam didn’t let go of her arms.  He squeezed gently for an instant before loosening his grip, keeping her grounded to the present and softening his voice.  “What do you know about my brother, Emma?”

There was a gentleness to his tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d had to bring someone back from bad memories.  A look in his eyes that all orphans recognize.

A look in his eyes that mirrored her own.  Mirrored Killian’s.

“I… I don’t know.  He left early this morning.  It’s my fault. I-” her voice cut off on a choked whimper.

_She had made a serious mistake._

The whole story came out in fits and starts.  The look on Liam’s face matched the timeline of the storm outside.  Guarded to tentatively serene to downright thunderous.  When Emma got to the part where she’d kicked Killian out and then heard from the harbor master that the _Jolly Roger_ had sailed out of Boston Harbor before she got there, Liam went deadly still.  

The blood drained from his face alarmingly, and Elsa moved across the room to stand at his side, her hand white-knuckled on his shoulder.

“Killian’s out in this?” the woman’s strangled whisper sliced through Emma like a knife, stealing her breath and making her shiver.

She nodded mutely.

It was a flurry of activity then.  Liam leapt to his feet, pacing the length of the room as he punched violently at his cell phone.  He didn’t stop moving, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he whispered under his breath, “pick up, pick up, pick _up_.”

With a snarl, he threw the cell phone down, ignoring the way it bounced off the coffee table and onto the floor.

Liam stalked out of the room, and Emma followed helplessly.  She watched as he snatched up the mike for a radio in what had to be his office.

He took several deep breaths, scrubbing his hand down his face and breathing shakily through his nose.

“Jolly Roger, Jolly Roger, this is Jewel of the Realm on channel 16, over.”  Liam sounded matter-of-fact.  She had to strain to hear the panic.  

Nothing came over the radio in response.

He waited a few minutes, staring off into space - clearly terrified - while he did.  

When he tried again, it was no longer difficult to hear his emotions.  “Jolly Roger, Jolly Roger, this is your brother, damn it.  Answer me, Killian, over.”

Emma held her breath, praying to anyone who would listen that Killian would answer.

Starting to realize that he wouldn’t.

There was no other chatter on the channel - no one else was out in this storm.

“Killian, this...this is Liam, _please_ .”  The pain, the pleading - no the _begging_ \- as his voice broke on the last word was impossible to listen to.

_She had made a serious mistake._  

Killian had to answer.   
He _had_ to.

Nothing answered Liam’s pleas but static.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?


	4. Asylum Harbor

_It didn’t take him long to realize that the weather report the harbor master had shoved in his hands was probably important.  The wind had picked up almost immediately once he hit the open ocean, forcing him to trim the sails to keep control.  Then the sky had darkened, the temperature had dropped, and the first raindrops had fallen.  Fighting the weather was a bit of a Godsend - the harder he had to work to maintain his heading, the less Emma’s voice echoed in his head.  He didn’t know what he’d been thinking - believing that he was good enough for her.  Of_ course _she saw right through him.  He’d told her he was no Prince Charming, after all._

_With a prosthetic in place of a hand and no magical cure to change that, Killian was a regular Captain Hook - miserable ending and all._

_How had he forgotten that?_

_Somewhere in the Atlantic, the paper that would have warned him against sailing out into the weather floated aimlessly, forgotten._

_Lost - just like him._

_Not long after Killian realized his mistake, the radio squawked with the Small Craft Advisory.  The storm buffeting his sails was larger than anticipated, more dangerous._

_But the surf back in Boston Harbor would be even more hazardous than sailing north.  He’d end up smashed on the rocks, or worse.  If he could get ahead of the weather, then he might be okay._

_He might make it home._

* * *

Emma felt like time seemed to stop after Liam dropped the mike back to the table.  He reached forward slowly and turned a knob - silencing the static.  She shivered, but this time it wasn’t from her own bout with the icy weather outside.  It was from the look on Killian’s brother’s face.

Liam was trembling, eyes fixed on the radio in front of him, glaring as if it was somehow to blame for Killian’s silence.  Emma could see the scenarios running through his head - each one more harrowing than the last - as he began to look more and more frantic.  He still hadn’t moved from the desk, clutching the wood spasmodically and clenching his teeth.

Elsa looked just as frightened as he did, just as terrified as Emma felt.  One hand was absently rubbing Liam’s back, the other continuing to redial Killian’s cell phone.  Over.  And over.

The sound of Killian’s voicemail started to grate on Emma’s nerves, his straightforward response devoid of any emotion - so unlike how he’d been with her from the start.

Nervous.  Happy.  
Lost.  Hopeful.  
Depreciating.  Caring.  
Loving.  Broken.

Never matter-of-fact.  
Never clinical.  
Never cold.

“Damn it, Elsa, **_stop_**!  He’s not going to answer.”  Liam’s shout startled both women badly - Emma had taken four steps towards the door before logic overtook instinct and Elsa’s cell phone had clattered to the floor - but he didn’t apologize.  

Liam _did_ stalk through another door, pausing only just long enough to snatch Elsa’s phone from the floor before he left the room.

Emma’s heart was racing, her muscles tense as she fought the urge to bolt headlong back into the storm and away from the perceived threat.  She was an adult woman, not some half-grown kid whose only options were to run or to take the punches.

And Liam wasn’t going to hurt her - she knew that.  But old habits die hard, and Emma’s were well ingrained.

* * *

_The rain lashed against the windshield, making it hard to see past the bow of the boat with the wind whipping the water into patterns across his field of vision.  The sails were flapping helplessly against the changing weather, the booms fixed parallel to the deck.  Killian struggled with the ship’s wheel, trying in vain to maintain control from the cockpit.  He was going to have to furl the sails completely, take his chances with the motor and hope his instruments would guide him to safety._

_His teeth chattered even with the layers of fleece and Gore-Tex that were protecting him from the elements.  It didn’t seem to matter - not when the wind was blowing off his hood repeatedly.  Not when the rain was going sideways.  Dripping down his neck, pelting the unprotected skin of his face, assaulting his ears like little pinpricks of freezing pain._

_The mainsail was first, fighting him every step of the way and refusing to cooperate as he tried to lash it down.  He thought about wrapping the sail in its cover but dismissed it.  It would take too long and the ties would suffice until he could get to safety.  As quickly as he could, he rolled the headsail in, glaring at the jib the entire time while it caught every gust and threatened to tear from his fingers._

_Finally getting all of the material tied down, and with an extra glare for good measure, Killian curled his fingers into a fist to keep them from stiffening up completely.  The prosthetic he used to keep control over the_ Jolly Roger _kept his stump protected from the elements, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it._

_He was scrambling over the deck, trying his best to concentrate on getting back to the cockpit, when it happened._

_The roar of the wind in his ears masked the sound so that it almost went unheard, but Killian had spent the better part of his life around the ocean and easily picked up the sound that didn’t belong._

_It didn’t matter - it wasn’t enough warning._

_He looked up just in time to see the boom of the mainsail swing wildly towards him, the sheet that should have secured it broken free of its bridle, catching him upside the head and sending him careening into the icy water._

_The splash he made was nothing compared to the crash of waves over his head._

* * *

Elsa had traipsed after Liam, leaving Emma alone in the office with her thoughts.  She had never felt more like an intruder in her life - and she had spent her life as an interloper in one foster family’s house after another.  But in _this_ house there were pictures on every surface - Killian and Liam standing in front of an antique looking ship, Liam and Elsa standing on top of a mountain in front of an amazing sunset, two familiar looking boys with their torn jeans rolled halfway up their calves and the ocean soaking the cuffs anyway, Killian in a military uniform.  There was a jacket thrown haphazardly over the desk chair, a book left open and upside down on a side table, knick knacks in a curio cabinet, and a dry erase board with notes like “pay the mortgage” and “no more milk!” written in looping cursive.

She was in a _home_ and she didn’t belong here.

As if she’d been able to read her thoughts, Elsa appeared back through the doorway, taking Emma’s hand in hers and tugging her despite the token resistance back to the living room.  Back to the forgotten blankets and tea, to the unopened bottle of painkillers from the hospital that threatened to send her to an easy rest she didn’t deserve, to even more snapshots of the Jones’ life before she came in and tore it apart.

If something had happened to Killian out in the storm, she would never forgive herself for shredding this family to pieces.

But Elsa didn’t seem to blame her for the strife settling on her home.   
For the clipped conversation Liam was involved in that they could just barely hear.  
For the way they both kept stealing furtive glances towards the door, just in case.  
For the silent prayers that Killian would walk into the house, cold but unharmed.

For the fear in everyone’s eyes, wondering if he’d ever grace the house with his presence again.

“Killian and Liam have been sailing most of their lives,” Elsa whispered almost to herself.  “I’m sure he’s going to be just fine.  You should try and get some rest.  The doctor said th-”

“I’m fine.”  Emma cringed when she cut the other woman off, but _she_ wasn’t the one everyone should be worrying about.   _She_ was the reason they were all worrying in the first place.

But Elsa wouldn’t leave her alone until she was safely wrapped in blankets on the couch sipping the lukewarm tea, so Emma let her fret - it seemed to be helping the woman to be doing something.  She watched as Elsa straightened the pillows on the recliner, straightened the movie cases on the shelf next to the television, adjusted some of the magazines on the coffee table.

She didn’t stop moving and Emma lost herself in the motion.  Hypnotic as it was, it distracted her from the pain in her head, the shivers still coursing through her.

The memories of Killian warming her up over the past week.

Emma wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later when Liam finally dragged himself back into the living room and all but collapsed into the recliner, tossing Elsa’s pillows on the floor.  He leaned back and dragged his hand down over his face before pitching forward to support himself with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders slumped, and his head bowed as if it were too heavy to hold up.

“That was Starkey.  He talked to his commander who put every Coast Guard asset on alert for the _Jolly Roger_ , but without even knowing Killian’s he-heading…” he trailed off, unable to finish around the lump that choked his words.

Emma’s hands shook, threatening to drop the empty mug in her grasp, at the sheer depth of emotion in Liam’s eyes.  

This was her fault.

She wanted to look away, imagined the recriminations that would be forthcoming, the anger and blame thrown at her.

But then Liam looked up at her, meeting her gaze and holding it.  There was a resigned look there, but none of the reproach she expected.  “Don’t tell my little brother I said this, lass, but he’s a hell of a sailor.  Better than I am at any rate.  If anyone can weather this storm, it’s him.”

Emma _wanted_ the blame, she realized.  She deserved it - needed someone to rail against her so she’d stop doing it herself.  This quiet reassurance was doing nothing but making her feel worse.

But neither Liam nor Elsa were glaring at her.  They were making plans to change the sheets on Killian’s bed so she’d have somewhere warm to sleep, shuffling her off to a shower with a pair of Killian’s sweatpants and a t-shirt with ROYAL NAVY embroidered on a pocket.  Wrapping her up in the scent of him and the hope that he was being taken care of as well.

Emma fell asleep with her head on his pillow and hoped the nightmares wouldn’t gain a foothold in her rest.

* * *

_The water was shockingly warm._

_After so long battling the elements - unprotected on the deck while he fought with the sails and even before that when he was hidden in the cockpit where the wind couldn’t tear through him but the cold was still pervasive - the difference in temperature was enough to stop his movements.  It was almost like bath water and somewhere in the back of Killian’s head, he knew that was a horrible thing._

_Still, he remained motionless for a moment, letting the water bat him about and toss him head over heels._

_Then, his lungs started to burn._  
_And his left hand felt like it was on fire._  
_And his eyes stung as he stared into the darkness below his feet._

_Or was it above?_

_Ignoring the instinct to take a breath, Killian clenched his jaw even more tightly shut and concentrated._

There _._

 _He was floating_ that _way._

 _That way was up.  Back to the_ Jolly _.  Back to air he could breathe and waves he would have to fight through to make it back to the relative safety of his boat._

_It took him longer than he’d like, his lungs screaming their displeasure by the time his head broke the surface only to be smacked in the face with a wave he wasn’t prepared for.  A new kind of burning assaulted his lungs as he hacked out the seawater, turning to float on his back for a moment and get his bearings._

_He bobbed about like Emma’s message in her bottle must have, and he was captivated by the thought for longer than was safe._

_Would he find his way back to Storybrooke like her message had found him?_  
_Did it really matter?_  
_Maybe he should just-_

There _._

_There she was._

_The only female in his life that was solely his who hadn’t left him.  
The _ Jolly Roger _, bobbing on the waves just as sure as she’d always been._

_Just like him - battered and broken, but still afloat._

_She wasn’t Emma or Milah or his mother.  
She’d stay to carry him home._

_Killian struck out for the_ Jolly _, powerful strokes pulling him against the current that threatened to tow him under again.  He ignored the pounding in his head, the sick feeling in his stomach, the way the world spun haphazardly around him.  He focused only on the next few feet at the time, bringing him closer to the safety of his boat._

_When he finally made it to the hull, his strength was nearly gone and it was only the locked mechanical grip of his prosthetic that allowed him to hold on to the rail.  Let him rest for a moment without worrying about being swept away._

_It was the first time he had ever been thankful for the loss of his hand._

* * *

The three of them were sitting at the breakfast table, each of them glaring out a different window at the almost two feet of snow blanketing everything.  The wind had died down sometime in the night, but was still occasionally gusting around the house.

No one was eating.

Emma looked furtively over the mug of coffee she was sipping, noting that both Elsa and Liam had bags under their eyes that rivaled her own.  None of them had managed more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, it seemed.

They sat there until the food got cold, seemingly unable to move, none of them really knowing what to do next.

When it got to be too much for Liam, he shoved his chair back with a screech and strode purposely for the front door, grabbing his jacket as he went.

Elsa followed him.

Her head bowed, Emma stared at the grain of the wooden table, resolutely ignoring the tears that had been pricking at her eyes since she’d stumbled out of Killian’s room that morning and didn’t find him waiting for her.

For them.

Judging by the crestfallen looks that greeted her, she wasn’t the only one who had let herself believe Liam’s assurance that Killian would get through the storm.

So now she sat alone in the kitchen, not having any hint of a clue as to what she should do next.  She couldn’t get in her car and go look for him - she’d already done that and it brought her to Storybrooke.  She couldn’t commandeer a boat and go searching for him - even if she’d been paying more attention to his lessons and less to the feel of his arms around her, she didn’t have the first idea how to sail and would never find him in the Atlantic.

The shrill ring of a phone went unnoticed until the silence that followed it startled her.

Emma stared at the cell phone forgotten on Liam’s placemat, wondering if she’d imagined it ringing.

But no, there it was again.

Emma reached out hesitantly, glancing at the screen as it flashed _**UNKNOWN** _ across the screen.

Later, she wouldn’t be able to explain why she hadn’t just brought the phone out to Liam and let him answer it.  She had no right to swipe across the screen and bring the device to her ear.  No reason to think the call would be for her.

But like she had no control over her actions, Emma raised the cell phone to her ear and breathed in to answer when she was interrupted by the caller.

“Liam, can you come and get me?”  His voice sounded so small, so impossibly young, but so _alive_.

Alive.

He was alive.  
He was on the phone.  
He was all right.

Emma was almost sure that she was dreaming.

“K- Killian?”  Her own voice was choked and barely recognizable.  She couldn’t breathe, one hand gripping the phone so tight it was hurting her fingers, the other clutching the table like it was her only anchor as the world threatened to sweep out from under her feet.

The silence on the other end of the line stretched out for so long that Emma pulled the phone away from her ear to make sure the connection hadn’t been severed.

“Em- Emma?”  His voice broke on her name, but the pain and confusion rang through clearly.  She could picture the look on his face, the expression in his eyes, and even from however far away, she wanted to erase it.

Wanted that look to never cross his face again.

“I thought I was calling my brother,” he muttered, and Emma wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it.

“Kil-”

“I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t mean-”

“Killi-”

“-bother you.  I was trying to call Liam and-”

“K-”

“-was thinking about you.  I must-”

“Ki-.”

“-dialed your number by mistake.  I-”

“ _Killian!_ ”  Emma finally broke through his distracted mumbling, too relieved to hear his voice to take note of the way he’d been apologizing.  “You dialed the right number.  Killian, I-”

There was an audible gasp from the doorway and she looked up in time to see Elsa’s hand come up to cover her mouth.  Emma nodded frantically, finally letting go of the table long enough to point emphatically at the phone, mouthing ‘get Liam’ while she listened intently to Killian’s voice.

“I don’t understand,  I could swear that I dialed the right-”

Emma interrupted him again.  “You _did_.  That’s what I’m trying to tell you.  I’m in Storybrooke.  With Liam.  And Els-”

Liam tore the phone out of her hand, cradling it to his ear with both hands, breathing hard.  “Little brother?  Are you okay?  Where _are_ you?!”

She tried not to fume.  
She knew she had no right to be angry.   
She had no claim to Killian.

He probably hadn’t even wanted to talk to her in the first place.

Liam was Killian’s _brother_.   
His _family._

Of course Liam should be on the phone with him, listening intently to every word and rejoicing in the simple fact that Killian was able to talk to him.  

That their worry overnight had been premature.   
That there was an explanation for the unanswered phone and radio calls.  
That Killian was okay.

“Of course we will.  No, don’t give me that, the storm’s already passed us by.  We’re getting in the truck right now.  Just give me an address.”  Liam’s conversation had continued and Emma couldn’t bite back the relieved smile that spread across her face.  She couldn’t hear Killian’s protests, but she could hear the tone of voice and could imagine what he was trying to say.

“Killian,” Liam warned.  Emma wondered which brother was more stubborn.  She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew the answer to that.  “Address.  Now.  Or I swear to God I’ll get in the truck and drive to every marina between here and wherever you are until I find you.”  

Her suspicion proved wrong in this case.  Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated, but he finally managed to convince Killian to give up his current location.  “Okay, I’ve got it.  We’re coming, little brother.”

Killian’s vehement response to being called _little_ came through the phone loud and clear.  Emma grinned.

Liam hung up after he added through a smile of his own, “We’ll be there soon.”

Emma tried not to let her face fall when the phone call ended.  She and Killian hadn’t even really talked _to_ each other, only over each other in the confusion.  She supposed it was for the best, the conversation they needed to have wasn’t the type to go well over the phone.  She needed to see him, touch him, make sure he was real.

Then she could begin her apologies.

But all of that would have to wait, she realized with a start.  There were only three seats in Liam’s truck - they couldn’t all go to pick up Killian and have enough room for the drive back.  And she couldn’t follow either, her Bug was still wrapped around the Storybrooke sign.

It was what she deserved - to wait hours for him to return to his home after the way she had dismissed him from her apartment.

She watched through the picture window as Liam hitched a large boat trailer to his truck, his movements clumsy in the accumulated snow.  She heard Elsa on the phone with their friend Starkey, calling off the Coast Guard alert for the _Jolly_.

She didn’t belong.

Once they were gone, she’d find her way back to the center of town, she decided.  Elsa had mentioned a place called Granny’s when she was convincing Emma to spend the night in their home - it shouldn’t be too hard to find.  Then she’d see about getting her car towed and wait for Kil-

“Elsa has a coat for you, lass.  It’ll be warmer than your leather jacket.  It’s a bit of a ride.”  Liam was waiting at the door, his cheeks red from the cold.

Emma just stared.

_What?_

Elsa laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling gently at what must have been a dumbfounded look on Emma’s face.  “Go with Liam, Emma.  I’ll wait here for Killian.”

It may have been selfish, but Emma didn’t wait for Elsa to change her mind, choosing instead to follow Liam out to the truck.

* * *

She had spent the entire ride down to New Hampshire rehearsing what she would say to him.  ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem to be enough.  ‘Please forgive me’ seemed like too much to hope for.  She wanted to ignore what had happened, wrap him up in a hug and keep him safe.  Prove to him that she hadn’t meant anything she said - that she was just afraid.

But Killian deserved so much more than that.

So much more than _her_.

The ride was mostly silent, Liam concentrating on the still slippery roads and Emma unwilling to tempt his mood.  Now that she knew Killian was all right, now that they _both_ knew that he had survived her thoughtless jabs to his worth, she was terrified.  

She didn’t understand how Liam could stand to be in the truck with her.  
How he had agreed to take her and not his wife.  
Why he was so accepting of her.

The GPS demanded that Liam turn the truck down an unmarked road and Emma was sure that if it wasn’t covered in snow, it would have been hard-packed dirt instead of asphalt.  She held her breath when they turned into a driveway, the tiny little shack (and it couldn’t be called anything more than that) their apparent destination.

Liam cut the ignition, stepping out of the truck without any hesitation.

Emma didn’t move.  
Couldn’t move.  
Was frozen in place, unable to do more than force air through her lungs.

Liam had almost shut his door when he noticed.  “Aren’t you coming?”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it shot through her all the more for its gentleness.  She managed to shake her head ‘no’.

Liam shrugged, then smiled softly.  “It’ll be all right, you know.”

She couldn’t even look at him.  Just shut her eyes against her own fear until he shut the door.

* * *

_He’d spent the early dawn in the harbor master’s old shack, wrapped up in blankets and nursing a cup of tea that he could barely taste.  The gash on his head was stitched up but still stung as if salt water was dripping from his hair.  He’d thought about calling Liam, but hated to wake him - his brother didn’t know anything about his boneheaded decision to sail home through a storm, so it wouldn’t hurt to wait a few more hours to use the old rotary phone to call for a ride._

_Now, blaming his momentary belief that_ Emma _had answered his brother’s phone on the minor concussion, Killian waited anxiously for Liam to arrive.  Like he’d done as a small child the few times they’d been separated, Killian paced the room and checked the window every few minutes.  He didn’t want to miss a single moment he could be near his brother._

_Not when he’d heard the worry in Liam’s voice when they spoke on the phone._

_The truck showed up a few hours later, and Killian rushed out onto the decrepit old porch, ignoring the way his bare feet protested the cold.  He tried to call out a greeting, but Liam’s worry must have been worse than Killian thought because his brother practically bowled him over as he wrapped his arms fiercely around Killian’s slight frame.  He stood, unyielding, as he tried to catch up with Liam’s worry.  His big brother was usually fairly stoic, and it wasn’t as if Liam even knew the whole story yet.  But Killian knew he was missing something when Liam’s grip on his shirt tightened, his face practically buried in Killian’s neck.  Hesitantly, he wrapped his own arms around his brother’s back, hugging him back tightly, determined to ease whatever strife was in Liam's head.  
_

_Liam breathed a heavy sigh of relief and relaxed finally._

_“You’re all right, thank God you're all right” he mumbled over and over, and Killian was confused.  Liam couldn’t have known how much danger he was in, not unless…_

Emma _._

 _She_ had _been with Liam, however ridiculous that sounded._

 _It was the only way that his brother could have known about his dejected retreat from Boston._  
For how long he’d been at sea.  
For the danger he had put himself in.

_He broke free from Liam’s grasp finally, looking to the truck and seeing the blonde hair he’d assumed was Elsa’s._

_It wasn’t._

* * *

Emma hadn’t been able to deny herself watching the brothers’ reunion, but she wanted to be wrapped up in Killian’s embrace just as securely as Liam was.  She could see the white bandage taped to the side of his head, but needed to check for other injuries to assure herself he was okay.

She needed to not be here, intruding on the family reunion fraught with such worry that she was responsible for.

It seemed like hours later when the brothers finally separated, and Killian’s head shot up to meet her gaze where she was still hiding in the truck.  His hand came up a moment later to pinch the bridge of his nose and he swayed alarmingly, but Liam steadied him.  They exchanged a few words, and then Killian walked away from her, into the shack.

Emma’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

It was no less than she deserved.

She bowed her head, determined not to give into the tears that threatened to fall, and drew her knees up to her chest.  It was cold in the truck, making the shivers she’d finally shed the night before in Killian’s bed attack her again with a vengeance.

The passenger door opened, letting in a gust of wind that sent the shivers into overdrive, but Emma didn’t look up.

“Do you want the middle next to your brother, or the door?” she asked dejectedly, already dreading the awkward drive back to Maine and her car.

Killian’s fingers were trembling as he slid them gently through her hair, hesitant and unsure.  It was a comfort that she didn’t deserve.  Didn't understand.

“I’d rather you came in out of the cold, luv.  Let me get a good look at you.”  His voice was a whisper, but it held none of the anger she’d been expecting.  

It sounded… hopeful.  
Afraid, like he knew that she still had the power to tear him apart even further.  
But determined to show her he was still there.

Emma looked up timidly, searching his eyes from the corner of hers, wanting to see forgiveness.  Afraid it wasn’t there.

It was.

Hidden behind pain - physical and mental - he couldn’t quite mask.  
Buried beneath tired eyes that spoke of too few hours of sleep.  
Peeking out from the questions he so clearly wanted to ask.

Forgiveness.

Some of her apprehension fading with the gentle smile he bestowed on her, Emma finally turned to face him fully, her right hand sneaking out to circle around his left forearm.  The brace he usually wore was missing, but it didn’t matter.  In fact, she realized as her fingers squeezed, it made it better.

Killian’s smile grew as he felt the grip, but it faded as he reached out to tilt her head and brushed his fingers over the dark bruise on her forehead.  She’d forgotten all about it until his touch had drawn her attention back to the ache of where she’d impacted the steering wheel.

“Aren’t we a matched set,” Killian whispered as he leaned forward to kiss the bruise lightly, lingering there for a moment before he leaned down to bump her nose with his.

Her other hand came up to clutch the collar of his shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and it still wasn’t enough.  She pulled on the fabric until he slid his arms around her and tugged her into his chest.  Emma could feel his fingers in her hair, gripping tightly, and his stump pushing into her lower back, urging her closer to him so there was no space between them.

With her face buried in his neck, able to breathe in the scent of him and feel his warmth surrounding her, she found the strength to whisper, “I’m so sorry, Killian.  I’m so… I didn’t mean to… it wasn’t you.  I didn’t want last week to be a one time thing, I… I…”

He silenced her with a kiss to the shell of her ear.  
With the scratch of his fingers along her scalp.  
With a soft huff that might have been a laugh. 

“Let’s go inside, Swan.  It’s freezing out here.”

Emma laughed, letting him pull her from the truck bench and keeping her close as he shut the passenger side door behind her.  Her eyes dropped instinctively down to gain her balance in the snow, and she saw his boots - laces half pulled out of their eyelets with bare skin peeking out attesting to his lack of socks.  There was snow melting on the skin of his ankles, and she laughed again.  “You’re an idiot.”

“As you say, luv.”  His easy agreement just made her smile more.

They needed to talk.  She needed to apologize to him fully.  He needed to understand that she was terrified of what he could mean to her - of what _she_ could mean to _him_ \- but that could wait until they got back to Storybrooke.

Because he was okay.  
Because he was here.

Because they had time now to figure all of this out.  
Because they could learn, together.  
Because Emma had learned that looking out for yourself so you never get hurt only worked until the day that it didn’t.

And this last day had proven that it simply didn’t work for her.  

Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am perfectly happy ending it there, a nice segue into happily ever beginning. But I’m also playing around with the idea of an epilogue/chapter 5 of sorts back in Storybrooke. Wondering what you all think. Leave it here? Or fluff?


	5. Absolute Bearing

To say that his heart had taken a beating over the last day would be an understatement.  From waking up to Emma’s locked bedroom door to almost losing the _Jolly Roger_ due to his own stupidity to finding that she’d come after him, it was almost too much.  He didn’t understand everything that had happened - how she was here with Liam first and foremost in the number of things that needed to be explained - but he didn’t much care as long as he could continue to hold her close.

Liam had refused to take them with him down to the marina, making some excuse about not wanting to face Elsa if he let Killian and Emma sit in the cold while he negotiated getting the _Jolly_ pulled up onto the trailer for the drive home.  They were alone in the tiny house, nothing for company but the fire Killian had been camped out next to since the harbormaster had dragged him - half-lucid - into his home.

He was surprised by how comfortable it was with just Emma to share the space.

They needed to talk, he wasn’t oblivious.  

But his head was still spinning and he was still chilled.

So when Emma tugged a blanket off the threadbare couch and curled up in his lap, well he was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot.

She was quiet for a long time, her head tucked under his chin and her fingers playing with the ties of his hoodie.  He was drifting on his thoughts when she finally started to speak softly.

“It was never you, you need to know that.  Well, I mean it was, but not in the way you’re thinking.  Everyone who was supposed to stay left me.  Every time.  And none of them treated me as well as you did… do.  I just-” she broke off and tucked her head more fully under his chin, grasping the fabric of the sweatshirt and pulling it close to her face.  It felt like she was trying to climb inside him.  Like she wanted to stay.

“Emma, luv-”

“No, let me finish.”  But it seemed he’d broken her train of thought, and she was quiet save for the occasional sniffle.  Killian shifted slowly, drawing his arms more tightly around her and tangling his fingers in her hair.  She’d hurt him, yes, but no one save Liam had ever come after him before.  So he was willing to give her the time she needed.

His left arm running soothingly up and down her back seemed to break the dam holding back her words.

“I just got scared.”

Killian nodded, tucking his chin down so he could kiss the crown of her head.  “Scared that I’d leave you, too.  Aye, luv, I know the feeling.  And I’m sorry, too.”

 _That_ brought her head up so fast that she clipped his chin with her forehead.  They bit back identical cries of pain, breathing hard in each other’s space as the world righted itself around them.  When he could see somewhat straight again, Killian kissed the bruise on her forehead that she’d worn since he saw her in Liam’s truck and whispered against her skin, “I’m sorry I didn’t stay to fight for you.”

“Killian.”  Emma looked sad, but he smiled gently at her.

“No, Swan.  It’s my turn.”  He tucked her head back under his chin, untangling his fingers just long enough to secure the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.  

“I got scared, too.  I… I thought I couldn’t be enough for you and I-” he continued over her protest. “-I ignored the first thing Liam ever taught me.  ‘A man unwilling to _fight_ for what he wants deserves what he gets’.  I left you, and I never expected that you would come after me.  And I should have waited.  Not just because of the storm, but because you deserve someone who will fight for you.  By the time I realized that, I was floating in the middle of the Atlantic and had no idea if I would ever get to chase you down.  I’m sorry, luv.  I’m so sorry.”

Emma started to move purposefully and a bolt of terror shot through Killian.  Was she getting up?  Leaving him alone?  Was it too much?  Would she-

She shifted so that she was straddling his lap, the blanket tucked around her like a cape as she looked in his eyes.  One hand started to play with the hair at the nape of his neck while the other ghosted over the bandage above his eye.  His arms settled around her hips, pulling her closer to him, his heart slowing from its frenetic pace only to skyrocket again when her lips brushed lightly over his.

It was everything and not enough all wrapped up in one time-stopping moment.  Her nose bumped his and the cold of it made him wrinkle his own.  Emma grinned, a soft giggle spilling out as she nipped at his lower lip.

It was over far too soon, her face buried in his neck and her arms wrapped around his shoulders.  He wanted to lay her out on the couch, continue to explore how they fit, but this wasn’t his couch and his brother could be back any time.

Emma’s nose nuzzled at the hollow of his throat, her hair a tickle against his scruff, but she sighed happily.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay?” she asked quietly, and he could feel the hint of tension in her shoulders while she waited for his response.

He didn’t… _couldn’t_ disappoint her.  “As you wish.”

* * *

Emma lasted all of five minutes in the truck before she slumped into his side, her soft breathing signifying an easy sleep.

“She didn’t sleep well last night.  None of us did, little brother.”  Liam tried to glare at him out of the corner of his eye, but it lacked its usual heat.  Killian figured being found safe after a night of Liam thinking the worst would give him a few weeks’ worth of ‘get out of jail free’ cards, and he bit back a smirk.

Instead, he nodded, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulders and tugging her into his chest.  Emma’s hand dropped to his thigh, curling instinctively against his jeans.  His own eyes closing of their own volition, Killian let his cheek rest on her hair, breathing in the scent of her.

“Are you...” He paused and looked over at Killian, waiting until he picked his head up to furrow his eyebrows at Liam’s frown.  “Are you sure about this?  She already hurt y-”

“No, Liam, of course I’m not sure.  I’ve known her for a week.  But I want to find out.”  Killian tightened his arm around Emma’s shoulders, letting his head drop to hers again and letting sleep claim him.

Liam let them sleep all the way back to Maine, through working with Smee to get the _Jolly Roger_ off the trailer and onto blocks for the winter, through navigating the streets of Storybrooke and dodging snow drifts and snowball fights across Main Street.  He let them sleep all the way until Elsa yanked open the passenger side door and pulled Killian out of the truck and into a fierce hug.  He stumbled, almost bringing them both to the ground, before equilibrium caught up with him.

If he thought Liam’s hug was intense, the way that Elsa wrapped her arms around him was practically fervent.  There were tears and scolding, careful examination of the stitches in his skin, and more hugs.  Killian found himself dragged inside to the couch and told in no uncertain terms to ‘stay’.

He would have barked and held up his hands like begging paws if he wasn’t terrified of Liam’s wife when she got like this.

He supposed he shouldn’t complain too much - not when Elsa proceeded to deposit Emma next to him with a pointed finger that dared her to move.  He bit back a laugh at the wide eyes silently asking him what just happened and pulled her into his side.

“Best to let her have her way, luv,” Killian explained when Emma relaxed against him.  “She’s basically queen of this castle and arguing with her just makes it worse.”

The smile she graced him with was tentative, but it hinted at playful.  It settled him in a way her apologies never could have - it spoke of their future and not their past.

A future he wanted to discover as soon as possible, if she’d let him.

They sat on the couch until Liam brought takeout from Granny’s for dinner.  He was surprised just how easily Emma fit in with his brother and Elsa, just how easily she fit with _him_.  It felt right to sink back into the corner of the couch and let her curl up against his chest - even if he did tense momentarily at the memory of doing this in her apartment.

How his misadventure had begun.

But she just laughed at Liam’s stories of their childhood, ignored his indignant protests at some of the less flattering ones, and pretended not to see the questioning and hesitant looks both his brother and Elsa sent their way.

They didn’t understand.  
Neither did he.  
But that was okay.

He wasn’t willing to look at it too closely.

When it came time for bed, he’d insisted she take his room, finally collapsing back on the couch after arguing with her for longer than he felt was necessary.  It didn’t take him long to drift off, too many nights spent on this very couch to make it uncomfortable.  Tonight he wandered through vague dreams of drowning and freezing, alarmed but helpless to alter his course.

He woke with a start, his breath echoing through the living room and reminding him that he was on land, safe at home with his brother.

And Emma.

As if he’d conjured her from his thoughts, he turned his head to find Emma kneeling by him.  Her fingers combed through his hair as he caught his breath.  Her other hand laid atop his chest, thumb stroking back and forth over his heart.  It settled him completely when she smiled softly at him, waiting him out.

“Hey,” she whispered when he returned her smile.

“What are you doing up?” Killian returned, sure that his nightmares couldn’t have pulled her from her… his bed.

She looked away from him then, and he could just see the blush forming on her cheeks in the light of the moon from the window over his head.  “Your bed smells like you, but I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Killian rolled to his side, reaching up to tuck some stray locks of hair behind her ear before he brushed his thumb over the apple of her cheek.  “I’m right here, luv.  I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded at his whisper, covering his hand with hers and nuzzling into his palm.  Killian leaned in, closing the distance between them and leaving a light kiss on her nose.  Her giggle was like a balm to his heart, sealing whatever hurt she’d left there in Boston.

This was real.  
This was doable.  
This was the possibility of happiness.

Emma pushed on his shoulder, knocking him to his back and leaning forward so that she towered over him.  Her hair fell around them, curtaining them from the world.  The ends of it tickled and itched, but he forgot the sensation entirely when she covered his lips with hers.

It felt as though a bolt of electricity surged through him when she nudged at his nose to deepen the kiss.  He acquiesced, parting his lips and letting her take control.

She didn’t disappoint.

He wanted her beneath him on the couch, or on the floor, or anywhere he had more options than simply responding to her movements.  
He wanted to find out how they fit together.  
He wanted to find every place that made her giggle, shudder, and gasp.

Killian reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair, tilting her head to a better angle to take back some control, the scent and taste of her an intoxicating potion.  She bit at his lip when he gripped more tightly, her forearms framing his head and her fingers in his hair.

When they broke apart, they were both gasping for air.

“Come to bed with me,” Emma murmured, her hand leaving his locks to trail down until she could grasp his stump, pulling him to his feet.

He was helpless to resist.

* * *

Between the damage Emma did to her car and her stubborn insistence that the mechanic could only use authentic parts from Volkswagen, Billy regretfully told Killian that he couldn’t possibly have the Bug ready to go for a few weeks.  With the way packages tended to get lost en route from the city to their small town, it might take over a month.

Killian would be lying if he said he minded.

He was a gentleman, however, and he offered to drive her back to Boston - to let her get back to her life there until the car is ready.  And they did travel down there the next weekend once the weather settled back into autumn and winter was once again on the backburner.  But Emma surprised him when she pulled him up to the apartment with her, darting from room to room as he held her open duffel bag while she stuffed it full.

They were back in Storybrooke in time for Emma to glare at the television as “her” Patriots lost to the Giants, yelling at Liam any time he made a comment regarding ‘football’.

Killian grinned like an idiot throughout the entire game.

And it was just that easy for her to slip into his life.  

She stayed for the month it took to get her car fixed, claiming that the money from her last skips would tide her over.  He introduced her to his friends and showed her around Storybrooke.  She helped him and Liam close down the _Jewel of the Realm_ for winter, securing the hatches and setting mouse traps like she’d been doing it as long as they had.  He eased her into living on the _Jolly Roger_ with him, laughing at her surprise when the nights were warm inside his quarters.

She moved to town permanently after David Nolan offered her a job.

They never looked back.

* * *

He was drunk.  
He hadn’t meant to.

He was definitely a little bit more into his cups than he’d intended when they walked to the Rabbit Hole.  He and Emma were celebrating her move and her job and _them_ , and their friends kept plying them with drinks.  So one drink led to another which led to a few shots and now Killian was most certainly drunk.

And stumbling.  
And heading to the town’s small beach.  
At midnight.

With Emma.

She was marginally more sober than he was, giggling every time he got distracted by the moonlight on the waves or the way the sand dipped just _there_.  He pulled her in to kiss her when the sound of her laughter echoed through his ears, thankful for the last time he was this drunk and wandering down the beach.

And then he saw it.

The **For Sale** sign was stuck into the sand, pointing up to a tiny little beach house that was perfect for them.

A month into the process of buying it, he realized that the ‘backyard’ was just about the same spot that he found her bottle.

They moved in two months after that night on the beach.

It was their first night in their bedroom, in their _home_ , and they were tangled up in each other.  The breeze off the ocean wafted in through the open window and was just enough to cause them to shiver as the sweat dried and they caught their breath.  The smell of salt and brine mingled with the coconut and lime of Emma’s shampoo, and if Killian were hard pressed to name the scent, it would be serenity.

She was in his arms.  
She was smiling softly.  
She was tracing patterns over his heart, her chin resting on his sternum.  
She was his.

But more importantly, and the thing that cemented itself firmly in his brain, was that _he_ was _hers_.

Killian had almost drifted off under the combined hypnosis of her scent and her touch when she shifted until she was perched over his chest, gazing down at him.  He cocked his head to the side, trying to wade through the vestiges of sleep while he watched to figure out what had changed.

Emma’s soft smile kept him in the haze between dreaming and waking, but the tear that snaked down her cheek confused him.  Before he could reach up to wipe it away, before he could roll them so he could protect her from her own thoughts, she spoke.  Her words rang through his heart as clearly as if she’d shouted instead of whispered.  

“I didn’t even know I was lost until you found me.”

Unfrozen by her quiet revelation, Killian reached up to tangle his hand in her hair.  “I didn’t think I could ever be found until I met you.”

* * *

Emma watched Killian ensure that his sleeve was buttoned over his right wrist for the third time since he’d walked in the door twenty minutes before, and it sent a now-unfamiliar shiver of panic down her spine.  He was nervous, and she didn’t know why.  The rings on her left hand should have been the last time he’d been nervous around her, the home around them warm and comforting to two lost children who’d found each other.

She had no reason to worry, but she snuck up behind him at the kitchen sink, slipping her arms around his waist and pulling him back to her chest to comfort them both anyway.

Killian’s brace rested over her hands, but his right arm was kept well out of her reach.

Emma took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him and letting it soothe her.  

If he was hurt, she needed to know.  
If he was hiding something from her, she needed to know.  
If she’d done something that made him want to keep whatever this was from her, _she needed to know_.

She ducked under his arm, sliding in between his hips and the countertop and distracting him from the dishes by twining her arms around his neck.

The sparkle in his eye as he grinned settled her, but didn’t extinguish her curiosity.

Killian ducked down, brushing his lips over hers and wrapping his arms around her.  He lifted her up to sit on the damp edge of the sink and she wrapped her legs around his hips.  She tried to concentrate on sliding her hand down his arm, but the sensation of him leaning closer into her and deepening the kiss was nearly too much.

Nearly.

Killian pulled back with a yelp and a wince of pain when she finally wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  Startled, he didn’t have the time to step back from her before she had locked her ankles so he couldn’t escape and had taken his hand in hers and unbuttoned his sleeve.

There was a square of gauze taped over his forearm and a blush working its way over his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Killian?!”  Emma’s voice broke over his name, and she was torn between pulling at the tape to see what damage he’d done and not wanting to make anything worse.

He didn’t pull his arm away, but she could still feel him fidgeting within the circle of her legs.  “It was kind of on a whim, and I realized after it was done that I didn’t know what you’d think.  I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, luv, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Emma teased the tape away from his skin, pulling back the gauze and revealing the intricate compass inked into his skin.

If it had been a heart, or a swan, or her name written across his arm, she might have minded.  She didn’t really know how she felt about overt displays of their love, the rings on her finger and the chain around his neck that held his wedding band were almost more than she could handle as it was.  

Some habits died hard.

But this?  Emma wasn’t entirely sure what the story behind its meaning was, but she did know from the pink tint taking over his ears that it was meant for her and her alone.

The compass drawn on his skin was a mirror image of the one he and Liam used on the _Jewel_.  It hung off the ship’s wheel when they were in port, and it was never far from whichever Jones brother was navigating that day when they were at sea.  But to the best of her knowledge, the compass drawn on Killian’s forearm didn’t point North.  The heading was slightly skewed off-center, pointing down towards somewhere near his pinky finger.

There was a story there, but this wasn’t the time to get into it.  Now, Killian needed to know that she understood.

That she accepted the tattoo.  
That she accepted him.

She smoothed the gauze back over the tattoo and leaned down to kiss the skin just above the pad.

He didn’t tell her the story, and that was okay.

* * *

Killian would never admit it to Emma, but he got an idea for their future from playing a game on his phone.  The advertisement had been sitting at the bottom of the chessboard, and he ignored it the first few times he saw it.  But then he was swiping across the screen, trying to move his queen into a position of check and he accidentally clicked on the banner.

The commercial that popped up was something from the movie _The Boxtrolls_ , a film that his nephew had insisted was the best film ever.  Killian could admit that he hadn’t paid much attention the last time they were babysitting the lad, but now that he’d seen the advertisement as well, it wouldn’t leave him alone.

_AdoptUSKids.org_

He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head.  A little girl with dark curls and bright green eyes.  A little boy with blond hair and eyes like the sea.  Scuffs on their knees and _“Daddy”_ and bringing home a child or a few that wouldn’t have to grow up like he and Emma did.

He didn’t have any bloody clue how to bring it up with her - they had only just started talking about if they wanted children after Liam and Elsa’s boy was toddling about.

But he shouldn’t have worried.

It took, what seemed to him at least, an age and a half before the adoption agency found them a match.  A set of fraternal twins whose mother couldn’t handle the thought of raising them, surrendered to the system at two and tossed around for a couple years until they were just old enough to understand what it meant to be foster kids.

Emma fell in love with them at first sight, Killian not too long after.

But it wasn’t easy.  He could see the wary looks, heard the two of them conversing in their own little language at night in their room.  They were terrified that one wrong step would send them back - that this time there wouldn’t be a family to take them both.

It broke his heart to think about how young they were and how jaded the system had already made them.

Six months went by before they were comfortable enough to refer to Killian and Emma as anything but Mr. and Mrs. Jones.  
A year before Killian overheard them call him “Daddy” in their bedroom - on the day that their adoption was finalized.  
And two months after that night before they called him “Daddy” to his face.

It was his birthday.

“Happy Birthday, Daddy,” chorused in high voices with hesitant looks. 

Like he would mind.  
Like they’d be in trouble for making his day.

It felt like his birthday, his and Emma’s anniversary, Christmas, and the day he graduated the Academy all wrapped into one.

One afternoon, sometime after that day, Emma and their children were out back making sandcastles. He had just gotten home from opening the _Jewel of the Realm_ for the season with Liam.  Killian stood on their deck, sipping at his beer and watching the shadows lengthen as the sun set behind him.  The twins were each working on a wing of the castle on their own, Emma piling up sand on a third area.

When he dropped down behind her, tugging her back until she rested against his chest, their children giggled.

“And what are we building tonight, my luvs?”  Killian’s voice was giddy, the draining day polishing brass and scrubbing the decks forgotten amidst his family’s play.

“Our castle, Daddy!” His little girl waved her arms dramatically over the construction.

“Yeah, Daddy.  I live here,” his boy crowed.  Small fingers pointed at the wing he was building.

Killian leaned forward, nuzzling into Emma’s neck.  “And are we going to live here, luv?  I have to say, it still needs a little refining.”

Emma reached back, winding her fingers through his hair.  “That’s because its owner isn’t quite ready to grace us with their presence yet.”

“Daddy,” his little girl whined as if he’d said something ridiculous.  “You and Mommy are the king and queen.  You live in the _main_ castle.”

His brow wrinkled, not quite catching on.  “Then who lives…”

Emma brought her hand down to circle his brace, tugging it around until it rested on her stomach.  “This little one,” she whispered.

* * *

Three children of his own plus two nephews who thought rules were more like guidelines than anything set in stone was an adventure in creativity.  The only time any of his or Liam’s children were at ease was - to no one’s surprise - out on the ocean.  It was easy enough to teach them the ins and outs of sailing, fit them in tiny lifejackets, and set them to manning the lines.  The boys lived for making Emma and Elsa gasp as they climbed the rigging, the girls giggled as their fathers turned pale while they leaned far over the rails to watch dolphins surf in the _Jewel’s_ wake.

For the most part, the groups that they took out on the weekends were happy to ignore or spoil the children.  There were a few bookings, of course, where Killian and Liam agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea.  But more often than not, the cruises ran more smoothly with some or all of the pint-sized sailors.

Emma had taken to the cruises just as easily as their children did.  She accompanied him whenever her schedule at the Sheriff’s office allowed, and proved to be a quick study.  Her hair pulled back and sunglasses perched on her nose, Emma had demanded to be taught how to sail both the _Jolly_ and the _Jewel_.

Liam was more amenable to one over the other, but eventually relented.

Killian held back the grin - he’d learned early and often that Emma would get her way in the end.  It was just easier to let her win.

This evening, Liam was in charge of corralling the children into some semblance of order while Killian and the adult crew managed the sails and the tour group.  He hadn’t really thought much about it, letting Emma man the wheel as they made their way into Storybrooke Harbor.  She’d piloted the ship before, in calm seas and rough, and once she got over her own fears, rarely needed him to step in.

“Killian?” she called across the deck after they docked, and the tone of voice was one he hadn’t heard in years.  Part nerves, part disbelief, part exasperation, she had her head cocked to one side, her fingers wrapped around the compass.

Oh.

He scratched nervously behind his ear after he handed off the sheet to one of the crew.  “Yes, luv?”

Emma hitched one hip against the wheel and crooked her finger, beckoning him to her side.  When he reached his wife, she had one eyebrow raised and she reached out to grasp his hand.  She tugged him to stand in front of the wheel, slipping her foot between his and leaning against his back.  One arm wrapped around his waist, the compass tight in her hand, and the fingers of her other hand drew his sleeve up to his elbow.

Killian obligingly rotated his forearm until his palm was facing up.  She drew the real compass up to rest on his arm, tucked in between his elbow and the tattoo.

The heading on the compass matched the one on his arm.

Killian already knew what they’d see when they both looked up.  Peering out over the bow, they could see that the _Jewel of the Realm_ was pointed straight towards their house.

“This is why the compass was drawn this way?” Emma asked.  But it wasn’t really a question.  Killian drew her around him, pinning her between the wheel and his chest.  He let the compass fall to its home, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw.  When he leaned down, she pushed up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and meeting him for a soft kiss.

“Aye, my love.  Your message in a bottle drew my path straight to you.  Now the compass always leads me home.”

* * *

**Some years later…**

 

The dark-haired little girl leaned over the railing of her uncle and her daddy’s ship, pointing out the silver fins of the dolphins to her best friend.  Her entire class was out on the _Jewel of the Realm_ for a field trip, her daddy dressed up as a pirate and regaling them all with the story he and her mommy had practiced the night before.  She laughed - she didn’t know parents had homework, too.

When it was time, she looked back over her shoulder, watching as her mommy leaned back into her daddy’s arms and smiled at her.  It was a special smile, one she only used with daddy and her brother and sister.  Not even uncle Liam or aunt Elsa or the boys got that smile.

Just them.

Her mommy nodded at her, and her daddy waved, his hook still on the ship’s wheel.

Mrs. Nolan cleared her throat and counted down from five.

All the boys and girls in the class threw their bottles into the ocean.

She waited, clutching the Coca-Cola bottle tightly, waiting for a good wave.

When her bottle went flying over the railing with everyone else’s, she watched it until her daddy spun the wheel about and she could no longer see the green bottle amidst the ocean waves.  Someday, someone would find it.

She knew that as certainly as she knew she was loved and would always have a home.

Someone would find her bottle and tell her all about how he’d found it.

Who knew what kind of adventure she’d have then.

 

 

>  
> 
> _October 23_
> 
> _Dear Prince Charming,_
> 
> _My daddy's Captain Hook, so you'll have to fight him if you want to take me away, but my mommy says that I have to do this assignment anyway, even though it’s her birthday today.  I have the best mommy and daddy, they take me sailing and they make me breakfast every Sunday morning.  Pancakes that daddy says look like animals, and me and mommy tell him they do. ~~They really don’t~~._
> 
> _My teacher says that we’re going to throw these letters in the ocean and someday someone might find them.  Some of the other kids think it’s dumb, but I know better.  My daddy found my mommy’s letter and that’s how they found each other.  And now they have me!_
> 
> _Daddy says that mommy’s letter was the best treasure he ever found on the beach in our backyard.  Even better than the day we found two starfish and enough seaglass to fill a bottle.  I don’t really know, but mommy always gets a funny look on her face when he says it, and then we go get ice cream, so I guess it was a pretty good treasure after all._
> 
> _If you find this letter, I guess it would be cool if you could come and find me, but daddy says that I can’t run off with a knight in shining armor until I’m at least 50.  That makes mommy laugh, too._
> 
> _She says I’ll understand someday._
> 
> _So, anyway, if you are Prince Charming, or even if you’re not, and you find my letter, could you call Storybrooke Elementary School?  I’ll get extra credit if I’m still there._
> 
> _Princess Jones_   
>  _(Daddy says I can’t put my first name just in case you do swoop in to the rescue)_   
>  _Storybrooke Elementary School_   
>  _Storybrooke, ME_


End file.
